


2nd Generation Deductors

by shnuffeluv



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Parentlock, ish, like guys the protag is a total fangirl, repeated references to other works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 27,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>15 years ago Mycroft Holmes and an American diplomat got drunk. In Vegas, might I add. You might be able to tell where this is going.<br/>Annabeth Lily Holmes was kept a secret from her dad for 15 years, until her mother dies. Between the move to London, a man out for her blood, and a school friend reappearing in her life after years of absence, Beth can't help but raise trouble, but the question is: can she keep out of the few messes she doesn't create herself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The girl walked into the downstairs of 221 Baker Street with more than a little bit of trepidation, playing with the hem of her new (to her at least,) blouse and taking a deep breath to calm herself. Her dirty red Converse poked out from beneath beat-up jeans that brushed against the tips of the curly ginger hair braided down her back as it swayed back and forth as she walked up the steps. She knew her face betrayed none of her nervousness, which made a smirk start to quirk at her lips. It grew bigger at the thought of Sherlock Holmes trying to deduce her, when she knew he’d get a lot-if not all-of it wrong. She stopped just in front of the doorframe, before knocking on it and walking in. John was working on something on his laptop-presumably his blog. But the man she was interested was casting a rather disinterested look at her. His eyes moved up to her face and she tried not to smirk any more than she already was. It would be no fun to give her answers away to him. Sherlock took a breath. “I’m not interested in whatever case you have.”

John gave him a look. “Sherlock, you haven’t had a case in at least a week, and you’re not even going to hear what she has to say?”

Sherlock sighed. “Please. Jeans and sneakers scream 15-16 years old, despite the blouse that tries to compensate and give an appearance of maturity. All her clothes are worn well, indicating she doesn’t have a lot of clothes to wear, but she’s only comfortable in the jeans and sneakers because she’s fiddling with the hem of her blouse, that means received either by a hand-me-down or a thrift store, judging by the frankly very strong smell I’d say thrift store. The shirt does seem to have been worn a few times before, judging by the way it’s slightly stretched to match her body. But she’s uncomfortable, meaning she wears it rarely, only when she wants to make a good impression. Worn clothes, desperate for positive attention, my money is on foster child or an orphan. Teenager rather than adult presumably means something to do with the parents, most likely a disappearance or death. Not. Worth. My. Time.”

The girl gave a sardonic smile, the deductions were impressive, albeit incorrect. “Wrong,” was all she said in response.

Sherlock looked at her with interest for the first time since she came in. “What?”

“Shirt’s from a thrift store, I’ll grant you, but I’m not short in the wardrobe department, and I wear this shirt more often than you’d think, I’m just stuck with scented washer detergent. I’m uncomfortable because...well, I’m not sure why, exactly, seeing as how there’s nothing awe-inspiring or intimidating about you,” John looked up from his laptop at that remark, surprised, “I’m not desperate for positive attention, I just give a crap every once in a while about what people think about me. And my mom may be dead, but my dad is alive and well. Waiting outside for me, in fact. I read your blog, you seemed bored.” She tossed a crumpled-up ball of paper at him from out of her pocket. “Here’s a puzzle: figure out who I am.”

She walked out before either of them could say a word. She went out of the building and into an idling black car, where her aforementioned dad was smiling. She closed the door and smiled back. “That was even more fun than I thought it would be. And he was wrong about everything.” She took out her braid and started to re-braid it again. “Although I do wish you would buy a different detergent. You practically run the government, so don’t tell me you can’t afford it.”

Mycroft smirked. “True, but there’s something about it that’s-”

“Absolutely disgusting,” she said. “I really don’t like smelling like mothballs.”

“You don’t smell like mothballs.”

“I really do.”

“You don’t. Besides, who would purposefully smell you anyway?”

“My new mental uncle, apparently.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You really can’t take anything he says too personally.”

“I don’t. I’m just rebutting your argument.” She looked out the window of the now-moving car. “I think he’ll enjoy my puzzle, if he can figure out what it is.”

“Did you really write it in a date cipher?”

The girl rolled her eyes up pretending to think. “Let’s see...I wrote APNHKNTJ LPUH HQLTNB. I’P YVDA NKEJN. YLGAZNM TQ MLNC YQU. I think it wouldn’t be too difficult a leap to assume that.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I think he’ll have some fun with that. And by fun I mean in 2 days when I go to ask if he’s solved it he’ll be completely insufferable because he won’t be able to figure it out.”

The girl grinned. “I’m coming. I want to explain it to him.”

“He’ll never  _ stop  _ being insufferable if you rub his nose in it.”

“But then he’ll never solve it.” She laughed. “How about this: I just tell him my birthday. He can go from there.”

Mycroft shook his head. “ _ You’re  _ insufferable, Beth.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Beth smirked. Her birthday was February 7th, 1999, the date she based her code around. The note was concise. It read: _ANNABETH LILY HOLMES. I’M YOUR NIECE. PLEASED TO MEET YOU_.


	2. Chapter 2

Beth was sitting with her feet curled under her legs reading  _ Fahrenheit 451 _  on the sofa in the sun 2 days later when she heard someone clearing his throat. She grinned. “Give me 5 minutes, I’m at the good bit.”

“You said that 5 minutes ago.”

She shrugged. “Not my fault I’m a slow reader.”

“You are not. You’ve gotten halfway through the book in an hour.”

“Your point, Dad?”

Mycroft smiled. “It will still be there when you get back. Do you want to give your uncle an aneurysm or what?”

Beth snapped the book shut. “I’ve literally been waiting for you to say it’s time to go for hours. Of course I want to!”

Mycroft made a gesture towards the door. “Then come on.”

She hopped off the couch and ran out the door, sporting a similar look to the one 2 days ago, except with a green plaid flannel over a white T-shirt that she didn’t bother to button that morning and stubbornly called a “look.”

Mycroft walked out slower behind her. “I don’t understand how you can go from 0 to 60 like that.”

Beth looked back at him. “I had to learn how to do it fast, waking up at 5:30 when I was 11.”

“Ah, right,” Mycroft said. “The flawless American education system.”

“Yeah, but at least I got to graduate before moving over here.”

“Skipping 3 grades was quite a feat. I was under the impression they hated doing things like that.”

“Yeah, they do,” Beth smirked at the memories coming up in her mind. “But I was sneaking 3rd grade materials into my kindergarten class anyway, and they figured that if I was going to learn it, I may as well not be a distraction to my peers. Mind you, being the only 5-year-old among 8-year-olds was a bit distracting for them, but…” she shrugged, letting the sentence trail off.

Mycroft sighed and gestured for her to get into his car. She tried to get into the driver’s seat but he cleared his throat. She popped up with fake innocence. “Sorry! Still used to an American car!”

“Yeah, right. Passenger’s side until you’re 17.”

Beth groaned. “Mom only had to stay alive for 1 more year, and I could have gotten my license in America. Why did she have to…” she shook her head angrily.

Mycroft winced. “Just...get in the passenger seat.”

Beth sighed and did so, Mycroft going around the car and starting it up. “Hey, can I ask you something?” she said quietly, still half in her own thoughts.

“Only if you come out of that head of yours long enough to actually hear the answer.”

She grinned. “Why you sometimes drive and sometimes have people to drive you?”

“I drive on my days off, where any phone calls I get can wait until I’m not on the road. I have people drive me when I’m on the clock, and someone is calling me because some sort of crisis has come up that needs to be averted.”

“The work of a civil servant is never over, huh?” Mycroft threw her a look. “What?”

“As far as I was told, you learned about the  _ American  _ system of government in school.”

“I read. A lot. One day I was curious about what the other half of my dual-citizenship would be like.”

“‘A day’?”

Beth shrugged. “Yeah. I read, and my homework was ridiculously easy that night, so I looked it up.”

Mycroft nearly drove into another car staring at her. “Of course, I’m going to assume that there are still some things you don’t know…”

“You know what happens when you assume, Dad?”

“You so much as start saying that crude expression I’ll reveal who you are to Sherlock on my own and  _ won’t _  be keeping a record.”

Beth huffed.

“...So, you think you know everything?”

“I don’t have the conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit memorized.”

Mycroft chuckled, much to Beth’s surprise. “That was surprisingly funny.”

“It always got Mom to laugh too.”

An awkward silence filled the car. When Mycroft pulled up to Baker Street, he turned to look at Beth. “We’re here,” he said softly.

“I noticed,” she said, her voice for once devoid of emotion, meaning that she really,  _ really _  didn’t want her emotions to show.

Mycroft sighed and stepped out of the car. He hadn’t known about Beth until he got a call from one of his friends in the CIA, who realized he was Beth’s biological father and let him know that he could pull a few strings to stave off some of the paperwork. When he saw her for the first time, she didn’t look sad at losing her mom, if anything she looked angry. They had stared at each other for a full minute before she smiled.  _ “Well, now I know where I get my hair from.”  _ He had expected her to be shy, or scared, or upset, but she acted as if this was an everyday occurrence to her. He wasn’t a fool, he knew she was keeping most of her life close to her, but she still talked to him, letting him get a read on how she ticked. He talked a bit too, and it didn’t take her very long at all to come to the same conclusion Sherlock had, though by the way she looked at him he knew she knew how exactly he “ran” the government-more through persuasion and psychology and just a touch of indispensability rather than giving out actual orders. She clearly had inherited some intelligence.

He prayed the consequences of that wouldn’t be  _ too  _ bad. Beth looked over at him and smirked like she could read his thoughts.  _ Definitely more like him than made him feel comfortable. _  They walked up to the landing together before Beth silently indicated for him to go up first. Mycroft sent her a look that said  _ Are you sure? _

She rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Just play along, will ya?”

He sighed and walked up the stairs the rest of the way. He saw Sherlock sitting cross-legged on the couch with Beth’s balled up message in front of him. “Hello, brother dear. Having fun?”

Sherlock shot daggers at him. “I’m busy. Go away.”

“Still working on that little cipher? I was under the impression it was solvable.”

Sherlock sat up from where he was slouching. “What do you know about the cipher?”

“I know that I could solve it in an hour. Probably less.”

Sherlock snorted. “Right. This is impossible!”

“It’s not impossible,” Beth said, gliding in behind Mycroft. “He’s right. If you know anything about ciphers you could probably solve it in  _ less  _ than an hour. Of course, if you  _ don’t  _ know what you’re doing, it could take you forever. I wanted to see how you were doing on my little ‘hello there’ puzzle, but it looks like you’re busy.” She smirked. “It’s fine. I can always come back.”

Sherlock huffed. “No. I need to know what this is.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re worse than the fatty next to you.”

Beth giggled at Sherlock calling Mycroft fat. Mycroft shot her a look, and the giggles turned into a cough. “Okay, well, first what you do is-”

“Shut up! I don’t want you telling me how to do it! I just want you to see me be cleverer than you!”

“How long have you been staring at my message?” she asked.

“...The whole time…” he muttered.

“Are you  _ any  _ closer to solving it than when you started?”

“No,” he said darkly.

Beth waited a second in case Sherlock came up with a counter argument. There was none. She walked over. “It’s a date cipher, see. I based it around my birthday so I could remember it easily. That’s February 7th, by the way. Tail end of the 1900s. Very tail end. I was born in ‘99, so your deductions on my age were probably the only thing you got right 2 days ago.”

Mycroft smirked and John snorted at the last comment. Sherlock batted her away and started working on the cipher. “You guys have a bathroom?” she asked.

John pointed her back towards Sherlock’s room. “Door on your left on the other side of the kitchen.”

Beth started to turn but Sherlock yelled, “Wait!”

She turned her head to face him wearing her best exasperated expression. He blinked. “Seeing the resemblance now, never mind.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can I use your bathroom now? I really have to pee.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” she muttered sarcastically, her braid swishing down her back.

She went into the bathroom and tried to be as quiet as she could to hear the conversation outside. She washed her hands and slipped out, still trying to be quiet so as not to disturb whatever conversation was going on that they felt the need to start only if she was gone. She walked up right as Sherlock said, “So she’s American?”

“Nope,” Beth said, putting emphasis on her accent. “Dual citizenship, it’s called. It comes in handy sometimes. Like when you need to convince people you come from somewhere else and can say, ‘I’m a citizen of insert-country-here’ and not be lying if they decide to fact-check.”

“Why would you need to do that?” John asked.

“I have a bad habit of irritating people without really trying to,” Beth shrugged. “Dual citizenship gives me the excuse of cultural ignorance.”

“But it’s not true.”

Beth laughed. “Never stopped me! I even used Youtube videos to make myself an accent to go along with it. That’s why you couldn’t deduce I was American before, by the way, you’re no more insane than usual,” she added to Sherlock.

Sherlock sent her an affronted look. “I’m not insane.”

“Could have fooled me,” she said with a completely innocent face.

Sherlock was about to say something when John interrupted. “Hold it! I’m still not sure who you are,” he said to Beth. “These two never say anything if it’s already been established in their heads. So...who are you?”

Beth smirked. “I’m the product of his,” she tilted her head towards Mycroft, “Sperm joining with an American official’s egg during a drunken night that apparently was very productive on both ends.”

John’s eyes widened and he tried to find something to say that wouldn’t get him shot by a sniper. “So...you’re...uhm. Okay. Wasn’t aware he had a daughter.”

“Neither was he until about a month ago,” she shrugged. “You’re right on the curve, don’t worry.”

John nodded mutely and looked to Mycroft. “You must have scored well. She’s very beautiful.”

“And underage,” Beth added with a smirk.

Mycroft smacked her on the back of her head. “Don’t even  _ think  _ about going there.”

Her green eyes sparkled with mirth. “Come on. D’you really believe I’d be interested in anyone here? 2 out of the 3 options are incest, the other’s just not my type,” and on that note, Beth practically skipped out of the room, the picture of innocence.

She walked down the steps to see a very tired man with salt-and-pepper hair walking in. He froze as she saw her, and she leaned against the railing on the steps, making sure she looked completely at home and relaxed, despite feeling way out of her depth. “Hello!” she chirped.

“Uh...hi,” the man said. “Is Sherlock up there?”

Beth nodded. “Yup.”

The both stood there in silence for a minute before Beth arched an eyebrow and smirked. “Are you going to tell him why you’re here or pretend you never came?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. My name’s Lestrade, by the way.”

“Beth,” Beth said simply. She stepped out of the center of the steps. “You can go up now.”

Lestrade didn’t move. “Who exactly are you?”

“I told you, I’m Beth,” she smirked.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I swear I’ve seen you before.”

Beth tried to keep her laughter back. “I’ve been getting that a lot since I moved here. You have no idea.”

Sherlock came down the steps at the sound of voices. “Ah, Lestrade. I was wondering when you’d turn up. Where is it?”

“A street or two away from the Yard.”

Sherlock huffed appreciatively. He grabbed Beth’s wrist. “Come with me. I want to test what you can observe.”

“Sorry, what?” Beth asked with the barest hint of trepidation. Sherlock heard it, and smiled.

“I want to know how far your intelligence goes. Come on.”

Beth was dragged behind Sherlock and Lestrade, into a cop car that drove down to about a block away from Scotland Yard up to the mouth of an alley. Sherlock dragged her over to the corpse, despite the protest of numerous officers. “Go on, then. What can you see?”

The body wasn’t the most gory Beth had seen, she had once seen an episode of  _ Bones  _ where someone was essentially thrown through a woodchipper, (really he-or was it she?-was thrown into a meat processor. Which wasn’t much better.) but the smell was nearly overpowering. The body had been airing for probably at least a day in its own blood, and it made her want to gag. Lestrade looked at her with concern, Sherlock with something that resembled a mix between amusement and disappointment.  _ It’s okay, Beth,  _ she thought to herself.  _ Just compartmentalize. You’re just on a realistic set of a crime drama. The blood isn’t real, there isn’t a smell.  _ When that didn’t work, she threw out that train of thought and told herself  _ You can gag and retch all you want later. Ignore the smell. Ignore it, Annabeth! _

She took a few deep breaths and felt her face relax into her favorite mask, not exactly neutral, just the tiniest bit irked that the world had chosen to try and entertain her. Then she started concentrating on the body, taking in everything she could. “Woman, mid to late 30s. Not homeless, just dressed to look that way. She has way too much meat on her bones and she looks way too put together to even be low-income, let alone homeless.” She took a few steps around the body, getting different angles of the wounds, trying to determine which were post-mortem and which were pari-mortem. “Lots of the scratches were done after the fact, the blood is more window-dressing. It wouldn’t come out from some of the wounds the way they do here, so it’s set like a stage…” at this she paused. Took a closer look at the woman’s chest. There was a little rise and fall. “Okay, either she’s got something under her to make it look like she’s breathing, or someone needs to call an ambulance.” She took a step forward and noticed a small air pump. “It’s just part of this whole thing. It’s just an air pump.” Lestrade was openly staring at her now, and Sherlock looked proud. She barely noticed. “Um...I don’t see a clear cause of death. All the wounds I see are post-mortem, they never actually bled. If there’s an external reason she died, it would have to be on her stomach, and that would mean more of her clothes would have absorbed the blood, and she probably wouldn’t be in the position she’s in. At a guess, I’d say poison, but it’s too early to be certain.” She straightened up and started to retch. “Now if you need me, I’ll be puking up my lunch away from where it might mess with the evidence.”

Beth ran out of the alley just as she started to heave. Someone hurried over to her with a basin. She emptied her stomach and dry-heaved once or twice more before stopping. “Thanks,” she told the person. “I’m okay now.”

She walked over to one of the cars and shakily sat down on its hood. “Wow,” she said to herself. Then she started to giggle slightly hysterically. “Wow...I just helped with a police investigation…”

Her laughing picked up momentum the longer it went on, and soon she was curled into a ball on the hood desperate for some air that didn’t immediately get shoved out of her chest. At some point she started to register a hand rubbing circles gently on her back and asking if she was all right. She took a few deep breaths and slowly sat up to see Mycroft sitting next to her. She grinned. “Well, Uncle Sherlock’s a complete basket case,” she said between the last of her giggles. “But I think I still have most of my sanity.”

Mycroft visibly relaxed.

“But I did get a face-to-face introduction with my first real-life human corpse.”

He stiffened again. “I’m going to kill him.”

“‘This is the way the world ends: not with a bang but with a whimper.’ -T.S. Elliot,” Beth quoted. “Make sure he whimpers and begs for mercy first.”

Mycroft hummed absently. “If only your mind remembered something other than words.”

“What’s wrong with words?!” Beth asked indignantly.

“No money in it anymore unless you’re willing to break other people to your will,” Mycroft replied.

Beth shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel like ‘How I Met My Father’ could make a bit of money, if I said I was related to the force behind the British Government.”

“You would be shot and the story would never make the shelves and there would be nothing I could do about it.”

Beth laughed. Mycroft smiled. Lestrade walked out of the alley at that exact moment and his jaw dropped. “Unbelievable. The resemblance is uncanny!” he exclaimed.

Mycroft threw him a  _ shut up  _ glare and Beth just raised a single eyebrow to show her amusement. They looked more like each other in that moment than either of them would later admit. Then Mycroft got a phone call, forcing him to answer it and leaving Beth to her own devices. Which is when she noticed a certain army doctor looking at her. She waved at him, and he sheepishly walked over. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I puked a bit, but I feel better now. The smell of day-old corpse is not pleasant. I don’t know how they do it.”

“‘They’?” John asked, amused.

“Bones and Booth, Danny, Jamie, Cam, McGarret, Dan-O…” Beth trailed off. “Sorry, I watch crime dramas and sci-fi. And some fantasy, but that’s neither here nor there.”

John tried not to laugh. “Did you learn anything from them?”

Beth shrugged. “Enough to make the old uncle impressed. Not too much.”

“Sherlock was impressed?!” John asked.

“Well...yeah. At least, that was the vibe I got off him before I ran off to puke.”

Mycroft and John both looked at her incredulously. “What? Like I said, I watch crime dramas. I pick up a few things.”

Sherlock walked out of the alley and Mycroft finished his call. Beth looked over at Mycroft. “Work?”

He nodded. “And against my better judgement, you’re going to go to Baker Street with Sherlock.”

“What? No way! I don’t want to be within 10 feet of the basket case!” Beth stood up and started pacing. “I’m old enough to stay in a house by myself! I’ve proved myself responsible before! I can hold my own against whatever gets thrown at me!”

Sherlock walked up. “I’m not sure that’s the case,” was all he said to her. Then he turned to Mycroft. “Your progeny was right. Killed with poison.”

“And I care because?” Mycroft asked.

“I think you might be interested in how it was administered.” Sherlock held out his phone to Mycroft, but Beth caught a glimpse of it in the hand-off.

“A tattoo? Not the way I’d choose to kill someone, but I’ll give them props for originality. That’d make an interesting premise to a murder mystery…” She grinned. “Very  _ Twilight Zone.  _ I like it. But, still, just because a murder pops up and my uncle drags me to it and makes me lose my lunch, doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself.”

Mycroft looked at the phone and looked at her. “I don’t care about how you can think you can handle yourself, you’re going with your uncle. No buts.”

Beth looked at him, slightly shocked. He never used his business voice with her before. “Well, if I can’t say ‘but,’ can I ask why?”

Mycroft let her look at the phone. The tattoo was a single sentence:  _ Welcome to London Ms. Holmes. _  “Okay. I get that’s a little creepy. But come on, how many people can that apply to?”

“You’re the only female Holmes in the family unmarried for 20 years,” Sherlock supplied.

“Really? You guys...just...only pass on the Y chromosome unless you’re drunk and the other party is American?”

If at all possible, Lestrade’s jaw dropped to the floor hearing this line of conversation. Mycroft winced and suddenly became interested in his shoes. “We need to make a rule about not bringing that up,” he muttered.

“No we don’t!” Beth chirped.

“We really don’t,” Sherlock agreed.

Mycroft glared at both of them. Beth just giggled. “Fine, fine. But. I still don’t want to cohabitate with the basket case for any longer than necessary.”

John rolled his eyes. “You get used to him.”

“I don’t want to get used to him, that just means I’m going insane too!”

Mycroft sighed. “I told Anthea to bring your backpack to Baker Street. With  _ Fahrenheit 451 _  in it.”

Beth thought about it for less than a second. “Oh! Nevermind, I’ll go.”

“Dare I ask what’s in this backpack to make you change sides so quickly?” John asked.

Beth counted off on her fingers, “Books, laptop, journals, pens and assorted art supplies, and the like.”

John made a small  _ oh _  noise and nodded. “Bit of an artist are you?”

“Yup,” Beth popped the ‘p’. “Always have been. Had a knack for recreating images I saw and accidentally memorized. So I kept at it, and...well, let’s just say I hate almost anything math some things science and mainly stick to books or TV for adventures now.”

“...Do you like the  _ Twilight Zone?” _

“Uh...yeah? It’s totally awesome!”

“You call yourself a writer and you use the words ‘totally awesome’?” Mycroft asked.

Beth attacked him in a hug. “Shut up,” she said before whispering, “If I’m not there when you pick me up assume that Sherlock has killed me and tossed my body in some undeterminable location. Remember that I only knew you for about a month, so I can’t definitively say I love you yet.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Touching goodbye speech,” he muttered. He pushed her away. “I’m more worried about what you’ll do to him to be honest.”

“Try not to blow up the world before you pick me up? There’s a new episode of  _ Blue Bloods  _ tonight and one of my internet friends promised to stream it for me.”

“I’ll try,” Mycroft said, walking off into a waiting black car. “Anthea should be there by the time you arrive. Don’t let Sherlock kill her, she’s the only one who knows how I like my tea.”

“No promises!” Beth called after him. She turned and walked beyond the police cars, letting out a shrill whistle, causing a cab to pull up. She turned to Sherlock and John. “So. Who do you think is going to die first?”


	3. Chapter 3

It had been 2 hours. Beth had finished  _ Fahrenheit 451 _  ages ago and was now going through a journal only labeled “Beth and Arthur’s Cures for Boredom”. She sighed, and called out, “Bored!” into the flat.

“That’s what you have the journal for, right?” Sherlock said irritably from his chair.

“Bored,” was all he got by way of reply.

“That’s nice.”

“Gelangweilt.”

“Saying it in another language means nothing.”

“Ennuyé.”

“...”

“Annoiato.”

“Shut up.”

“скучающий.”

“Shut up!”

“うんざりした!”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Sherlock said, pulling out John’s gun and shooting directly over Beth’s head.

“WHY DO YOU HAVE A GUN?!” Beth screeched.

Footsteps could be heard rushing up to the flat, and Mycroft rushed in. “Sherlock! You do not shoot your own niece!”

Beth was sprawled on the floor, shaking heavily. “Dude! The gun! Why?!”

Sherlock shrugged. “Bored.”

Beth huffed. “You sure you don’t mean irritated?”

“Yes.”

“You utter…” Beth sighed, stopping before Mycroft could even register what she was muttering. “It’s a wonder John puts up with you, Unc.” She grabbed her backpack, put everything in it, and turned on her heel to walk out the door with a, “Hope no one accidentally murders you the next time you pull that out. And yes, I am being sarcastic!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and aimed the gun straight at her forehead. “And what if I were to say I planned to shoot you right now?”

Beth stared him right in the eye as she said, “I would use my backpack to protect my vital organs as I ducked down to the floor before using my gymnastics classes to somersault towards you and pop up to rip the gun out of your hand before you could say ‘whoops’.”

Sherlock nodded and put the gun down. “Wouldn’t work on me, but appropriate strategy.”

“What, think you could beat me hand to hand?”

“A scrawny brat like you? Definitely.”

“Fight me.” Beth glared at her uncle. “I’m done here, B.F. can we go now?”

“B.F.?” Sherlock asked.

“Biological Father,” Beth supplied to him, before grabbing Mycroft’s hand and trying to drag him out of the flat. “Come onnnnnnn. Pleeeeeeaaase?”

Mycroft looked down at her and sighed. “That’s going to get you nowhere.”

“The window will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You know what happens when you assume…” Beth started.

“Don’t you dare,” Mycroft cut her off.

Another pair of footsteps came up the stairs. “Mr. Holmes, are you done yet? My father needs to talk to you about…” the boy froze in the doorframe, staring at Beth.

Beth cocked her head to the side, but otherwise simply stared at the boy. “Have you by any chance been to Camelot recently?” she asked, dropping Mycroft’s hand.

The boy grinned. “It really is you! Beth!”

Beth grinned as wide as she could. “Arthur! Oh my gosh, it’s been an eon!” she almost squealed as she tackled him into the tightest hug she could muster.

Arthur hugged her back. “What are you doing in London, Beth?” he asked.

Beth stepped out of the hug and grinned. “I just moved here. Probably’ll be stuck here for a while too, since college is apparently out of the question until I’m 18.”

Arthur looked at her confused. “So you found your dad? Or were you adopted? I assumed from our last Skype that your mom died, since you said ‘My mom died’.”

“Yeah, my biological father found out I existed. Lives in London, and this was better than some foster home in the middle of nowhere on the East Coast, so I took the opportunity.”

“Who is he?”

Beth grinned and didn’t say anything.

Arthur sighed. “Really? This again? I’m not some detective, Bethy.”

Beth scowled at the nickname but started smirking soon after. “Shouldn’t be that hard. He’s in the room.”

Arthur glanced at the three men in the room, before doing a double-take at Mycroft, and then looking back at Beth. Her smirk grew wider. “Someone give the boy a prize!” she crowed.

“S-seriously?!” he stuttered. “Oh, I’m starting to regret hugging you…”

Beth giggled and slugged his arm. “Shut up, pretty boy, you’re ruining the moment.”

Arthur looked offended. “Pretty?!”

Beth grinned as wide as she could and nodded. “You never told me how those rugby try-outs went. I’m assuming you got in, considering you’ve clearly been working out.”

“Was that a compliment, Lady Guinevere?” Arthur teased.

“It better not have been,” Mycroft warned.

Arthur took a step back from Beth. “Oh, sorry sir. I-I forgot you were there for a second.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s a stick in the mud anyway.” She ran behind him and climbed onto his shoulders. “Wow, you really  _ are  _ well built. How much have you been working out, and can I get a copy of your routine?”

“Bethy, get off me!” Arthur hissed.

“Annabeth, I’m giving you one chance to get off that boy and pretend this never happened.”

Beth giggled. “No way! Run, Arthur, run!”

Arthur was caught in between a rock and a hard place. “Arthur, who are you more afraid of: me or my daughter?”

He didn’t even take a second to mull it over. “Your daughter.”

And with that, he sprinted down the stairs with Beth screaming out of pure glee on his shoulders. “Faster, faster!”

They got outside before Beth hopped off his shoulders and grabbed his hand. “Come on, we have to keep going!”

Arthur glanced around. “Where can we hide, exactly?”

Beth fished through her backpack and brought out her journal again. “The old subway station that never opened, maybe? You used to brag to me that you broke in there once and no one was ever the wiser.”

He smiled. “You kept the journal.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Of course I kept it. It’s been invaluable.”

They heard footsteps from inside and sprinted down the street hand in hand with no particular direction in mind. In between gasps, Arthur said, “My father...was waiting...for your dad to finish business and grab you so they could get to this important hush-hush meeting. Hopefully he’ll go to that before long.”

Beth shook her head. “Don’t be so sure. I’ve only been here about 3 weeks and already I’ve gotten my first death threat. He seemed pretty concerned, at least I thought he was. One minute he’s trying to get used to me and me used to him, and the next he’s distant and caught in his own head.”

“So we have to hope he just gets caught in his own thoughts?”

Beth nodded. Arthur huffed. “Great. Our only hope is a wild card.”

“What do you expect? I haven’t had much time to explore the city yet!”

Arthur looked at her and grinned. “Well what do you say that we fix that starting today?”

Beth looked at him, trying to glean what he was saying. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you have to get used to the city somewhere, and I think the Tube would be a good place to start.”

Beth laughed incredulously. “Are you suggesting that we ride the subway for the rest of the day all around London?”

“That I am, Ms. Holmes. What do you say?”

Beth got a glint of mischievousness in her eye. “Let’s go!”


	4. Chapter 4

As Beth and Arthur found seats together, Beth thought back to how they had first met.

_ Beth looked around the kindergarten class and sighed. Smiley posters lined the walls, with the alphabet or numbers or shapes. She knew all of this stuff already, and didn’t see how this “school” thing would be of any use to her, at least not for a few years until they went over stuff she didn’t know yet. Next to her, a young boy was crying. “Hey,” she said quietly trying to get his attention. “Hey, what’s wrong?” _

_ The young boy looked at her with deep blue eyes that were spilling tears down his face. “M-my dad isn’t h-here…” he whimpered. _

_ “Mine isn’t either,” Beth said. “He’s never been with me and my mom.” She didn’t question his English accent, she knew this was a fancy school where many diplomats would send their kids. “My name’s Beth. What’s yours?” _

_ “I-I’m Arthur,” the boy sniffed as he ran a hand through his brownish hair. “Do you really not know your dad?” _

_ Beth nodded. “My mom has one picture, but she won’t even let me see it. I just know his last name is Holmes, ‘cause my mom made it my last name too.” _

_ “Why not have your mum’s last name, if your dad isn’t here?” _

_ Beth shrugged. “She just says ‘names have power’.” _

_ Arthur thought about it for a minute but couldn’t come up with anything to explain that. The teacher was trying to get the class’s attention anyway. “All right, class, I think that a good way to get to know each other is say what your name is, and something you like to do, hm? Be patient, and listen to your classmates, they’ll soon be your friends!” _

_ Beth snorted. Arthur gave her a confused look. _

_ “Okay...Arthur Knight? Would you like to go first sweetheart?” _

_ Arthur stood up hesitantly. “Er, my name is Arthur, and I like…” he thought about it. “I like playing football with my dad,” he mumbled. _

_ “That sounds like fun!” the teacher praised. “Who wants to go next?” _

_ Almost everyone raised their hand, except for Beth. When everyone else had gone, all the kids bolstering their courage, the teacher finally called on her. “Annabeth Holmes? Where are you, sweetie, you haven’t gone yet.” _

_ Beth stood up. “My name is Beth. I love to read. I’ve tried to write stuff too, but it’s never as good as what I read.” _

_ She sat down before the teacher could have time to patronize her with empty praises. Arthur’s jaw was on the ground next to her. “You can  _ read?”

_ Beth nodded. “And I can write, and count past 100,” she chose to leave out how she was teaching herself multiplication at home, since she doubted Arthur knew what that was. _

_ “You’re super smart! You’re, like, a genius, or something!” _

_ Beth blushed. “I just like reading things. I learn when I read enough.” _

_ The teacher had moved on by then, explaining that she had put nametags on their desks, and how that was their desk for the time being. Arthur and Beth weren’t paying attention. Arthur was asking Beth questions, and Beth was answering them for him. Yes, she knew about Paddington Bear. Yes, she had read about him by herself. No, she hadn’t been to kindergarten before, she learned how to read on her own. _

Arthur pulled her out of her thoughts. “Earth to Beth, what are you thinking about?”

“How we met,” Beth said simply.

Arthur smiled. “Oh, that was fun. Remember how you snuck in books that the 3rd graders were reading, and you’d bribe them with your desserts for copies of their homework?”

Beth chuckled. “That was always interesting. And then Ms. Singer would come over and ask what I was doing, and I would show her, and she looked like she was ready to burst a blood vessel when I explained to her all my work was done, and I was getting bored.”

Arthur laughed. “And then they made sure that we always had the same lunch time for as long as I was there, because I was the only one you’d talk to outside the teachers.”

“And all the other kids were moaning about how they had to be stuck with people they already knew just because the Freak liked you,” Beth giggled.

Arthur frowned. “You’re not a freak.”

Beth sighed. “Yeah...I’m a writer.”

Arthur cracked a smile. “There’s a difference?”

Beth nodded. “Huge one. An insane asylum versus a millionaire kind of difference.”

They laughed again, quieter this time.

_ Beth was sitting on the bench by the playground, waiting patiently for the kindergarteners to come out of the building. When she saw him, she grinned and ran over, choosing to ignore the possibility that Arthur might not want to play with her. “Hi, Arthur!” she chirped. _

_ “Beth?” Arthur asked. _

_ Beth nodded. “The 3rd grade has the same recess as you!” she said, excited. Then, a bit more hesitantly, “I saw an anthill by the slide, want to check it out?” _

_ Arthur beamed. “Are you kidding me? That’s so cool!” _

_ While they were crouching over the hill Beth admitted, “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to play with me.” _

_ Arthur looked up. “Why wouldn’t I want to play with you? You’re super smart and you know a lot of cool stuff!” _

_ “The other kids call me a freak…” Beth murmured. _

_ “The other kids are wrong!” Arthur exclaimed. “You’re cool, and funny, and nice, and smart! There’s nothing wrong with being smart!” _

“There’s nothing wrong with being smart,” Beth murmured.

“No, there’s not,” Arthur smiled. “Are you getting all the stops down in that head of yours?”

Beth scoffed. “Shut up.”

The car started slowing down and Arthur and Beth could see their dads waiting on the platform. “Ah,” was all Beth said.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much trouble do you think we’re in?”

“11.”

Arthur nodded. “Should we run?”

Beth smirked. “Only if you want to live,” she sang.

“Living is overrated,” Arthur started.

Beth pouted.

“Unless, of course, you get to see the rooms where the government interrogates terrorists!” he finished dramatically.

Beth’s jaw dropped. “Get out.”

"I'm serious," Arthur said. "They're mad enough to kill us now, but if we waited a few stops, we'd get to live long enough to see 'em. I never got to, but always try in your honor."

"Then let's not give up yet. If we don't get up, they'd have to force us off. And I can scream loud enough to get them arrested."

"Think your dad knows that?" Arthur asked.

"No, but since he doesn't he probably won't risk it."

The train stopped and passengers got on and off. Arthur's dad got on and sat across from them, analyzing Beth. Mycroft just glowered at her. She smiled benignly. "Can I help you?" she asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Arthur snickered.

Beth looked over at him and grinned. "You know, I forgot how much fun almost dying is when you're around."

"Of course that doesn't mean that you don't nearly die without me."

Beth scoffed. "Obviously. I got to say 'bored' in 6 different languages to Sherlock before he shot at me."

Arthur whistled. "Did he recognize all of them?"

"It seemed like it," she shrugged.

"I heard he was smart," Arthur said. "Still, I'd bet that you're smarter."

Beth laughed and blushed. "Shut up, you flirt."

"It's not flirting if it's true," Arthur grinned.

"Oh. My gosh. Shut UP!" she shoved him.

"Or what?" Arthur raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Or I'll have you pinned to the ground so fast you'll be begging for mercy through the tears of your pain."

Arthur laughed. "Sure, Bethy. Sure."

Beth shoved him in the ailse on his back, folded his arms up underneath him and put a knee to his chest. "Care to shut up now?" she asked.

Arthur mutely nodded. She sat back on his legs. "M'kay. You can get up now."

Arthur sat up and shook out his arms, before lifting Beth up and perching her on his shoulders. "This is to keep you out of trouble."

Beth laughed. "Come on, like you're going to keep me out of trouble!"

And then the power winked out.


	5. Chapter 5

The train car was thrown into chaos. People screamed. Some cursed. Beth was thrown off of Arthur's shoulders into what she assumed were Mycroft's legs. Judging by the curse as the man hit the floor, she didn't hit her dad. Whoever she  _did_ hit, however, was not happy with her, and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, pulling her up and dragging her towards the door of the car. Instinctively she knew that if she consented with this man, she wouldn't see Arthur or anyone she knew for a while. She took a deep breath of air straight into her diaphragm, and let out an ear-piercing, primeval scream. The man behind her covered his ears and she elbowed him in the privates. She pulled his legs underneath his, sending him sprawling back on the ground, and stomped on his stomach to wind him. The power flickered on and she blinked several times to adjust, finding the whole car staring at her standing over the prone man. "What?" she asked defensively.

Everyone worth their salt looked away. Beth rolled her eyes and muttered, "Idiots."

Arthur came over and hugged her like she was fragile. She turned to look at him. "What're you hugging  _me_ for? I'm fine."

"You also just badly injured a man. I want to hug whatever is left of your shrinking innocence."

Beth rolled her eyes. "Bit late for that," she said.

Mycroft came over and forcibly removed her from Arthur. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Beth nodded. "Yeah. Might be a bit sore later, but I'm fine."

Mycroft looked at her skeptically. "No feeling a needle prick? Or physical violence?"

"Other than the part I did myself? Ha!" Beth laughed. "Guy was a complete amateur."

Mycroft pursed his lips. "Shame. I was looking forward to killing him."

Beth laughed, stopping when Mycroft's face didn't change. She gave him a look. He smirked. "Yeah, knew you weren't that into me," she nodded.

Mycroft frowned. "You know full well that's not what I was saying!"

Beth shrugged. "I'm 15. What the heck am I exactly supposed to know? I'm supposedly an empty vessel, to pour propaganda into."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. The train started up again, and Mycroft put her in a vice grip. She pouted. "You're not running again," he said seriously.

Beth sighed. "Oh, fine."

The train came to a stop and Mycroft dragged Beth off it, Beth shouldering the guy she beat up like a hunter carrying back a buck. There were a few suits waiting for her to hand him over to them, and she glared. "I can handle him," she assured.

Mycroft sighed. "You're not watching his interrogation."

Beth gave him puppy eyes. "Oh, c'mon! Sherlock took me to see a murder! How much more damaged can I possibly get?"

Mycroft bit back a retort as Arthur piped up, "She just wants to see the torture room. No actual torture."

Beth shrugged. "What he said."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "What did I get myself into adopting you?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey...not dead? I've been working on this again, I've almost got 10 chapters!  
> ...Enjoy, sorry for the long wait!

Beth was watching the interrogation next to Mycroft with a completely blank face. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned. "Should've brought popcorn," she said absently.

Definitely concerned.

The man wasn't saying much, because he didn't know much. Both Holmeses agreed on that at least. Beth was betting that he knew someone higher up on the chain, though, while Mycroft was confident he didn't know where he was receiving orders from. After a particularly nasty blow that even Beth winced at, the interrogater said, "One last chance. Who told you to kidnap Ms. Holmes?"

The man looked at the two-way mirror. "I was told to say if this happens that Magnussen sends his love."

Mycroft sat up and stiffened, and Beth looked over at him curiously. "Who's Magnussen?" she asked.

He didn't answer. Beth frowned and walked into the interrogation. "Who's Magnussen?" she demanded from the man who tried to kidnap her.

The man grinned at her. "Hello, love. How've you been? Did you know, I was told that I had to keep you alive especially for this meeting Magnussen had set up specifically for you? You must be something special, to make people bring him to you."

Beth leaned dangerously close to the man. "You listen here, you vile excuse of filth," she spat. "Since you're clearly working the streets for a fix, I'd say that term is accurate. I want my question answered. Who is Magnussen?"

The man smiled. "How sweet, little girl trying to emulate her daddy."

Beth punched him so hard his chair fell sideways. "I am not. My dad. Now answer me. Who. Is. Magnussen?"

"Just an admirer of yours. And your mom's. He always had a thing for her, I think. It's such a shame she died."

Beth growled and picked the man up off the ground, punching him until his lower lip was gushing blood everywhere. "Don't you dare!" she screeched. "Don't you dare bring her up!"

Someone was pulling her away, but she broke free. She stormed to the man and took a deep breath. Then another. Then in an even, controlled voice, said, "Now you listen here. We both know someone, somewhere, is going to get you out of here. When they do, give them this suggestion, from me: Run. Because you've made me mad, and my bad side is not the place to be. There is nothing I won't do to stop whoever is behind this, Magnussen, whoever. The second they see me, I will attack. And my bite? Far worse than my bark."

Mycroft dragged her out of the room. She fought against him. "No! Let me go! Let me go!"

Beth wrenched herself from Mycroft's grip and he grabbed her again. "Don't," He warned.  
Beth looked up at him. "Why not?"

"Because Magnussen is a shark who finds your weaknesses and uses them against you to get what he wants. You don't want to give him more than he has."

Beth slumped. "Can we go? I'm tired."

Mycroft nodded and led her out.


	7. Chapter 7

Beth walked down the hall on a sleepless night to hear noises coming from Mycroft's bedroom. She knew she probably shouldn't barge in, but if something was going on at 1AM, it was usually something that she needed to know about. She walked in to Mycroft tossing and turning in bed. She bit her lip and poked him, aware he once worked for MI6. He woke up with a start and squinted. "Ali?" he asked.  
"Try again," Beth said quietly.  
He sighed. "Sorry, Beth, it was just a nightmare."  
"It's okay," she smiled. "I get them too."  
Mycroft sighed and moved over. Beth curled up in the space around his torso. "Did you read the police report?" she asked.  
He nodded. "She was shot."  
"Not just shot, she was shot execution style. She was obviously the target. Someone wanted her dead."  
Her voice broke several times and she cursed every one of them. Mycroft ran a hand across her back. "To change the subject, I know when you call me dad you don't mean it like most people do. But I want you to know that's okay, because we're both trying to figure this out, and whatever you're comfortable with is okay. Even if you call me 'BF' the rest of the time we know each other. I just want to make the best of a bad situation, okay?"  
She nodded. "This...is...a bad situation. I try not to say it, but it is," she sighed. "It sounds inconsiderate, because this is the only way we know each other, but I really, really wish Mom didn't have to go to that gunman so that he didn't shoot both of us."

Mycroft hummed. "I wish she didn't have to get shot, period."

Beth shrugged. "I do too, but there's nothing I could have done to prevent her getting shot, so I moved to the next best thing."

She could feel his chuckle vibrate through his body into hers. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

The next day, Beth woke up to Mycroft already out of the bedroom. She sat up, pulled on a sweatshirt over her pajamas, and walked downstairs. Mycroft did a double take when he saw her. She grinned and went to the refrigerator. "It's okay, I can cook for myself."

He sighed. "I'm sorry I forgot about you...again."

She laughed. "It's cool. Like I said, I can cook."

He went back to the papers on the counter and she peeked over her shoulder. "The Prime Minister screwing things up again?"

"Yeah. But you don't need to know."

She smiled benignly. "That's okay. I can find out from the extremely biased news stations."

Mycroft held up a hand. "Wait."

She grinned.

"At least read 2 biased news sources with 2 different views."

She groaned. "I thought I had you."

Mycroft smiled. "Not quite, Annabeth."

Beth stuck her tongue out and went to find a book to read. "I am so done," she muttered.

"Done with what?" Mycroft asked.

" _Life, the Universe, and Everything_!" she called back as she walked to the living room. She shrieked when Sherlock was in there, seemingly waiting for her. "SHERLOCK!" she yelled.

Mycroft came in quickly, frowning. "Sherlock, why are you here? And why are you scaring Beth? You could knock."

Sherlock shrugged. "Wanted to see if you were taking responsibility over your progeny."

"And that gets proven by scaring the daylights out of me _how,_ exactly?"

"Mm, it doesn't. I have some information of Magnussen," Sherlock spoke over her head.

"Oi," she warned. "I have ears."

"Yes, and for that reason I'd appreciate it if you left your uncle and I alone to talk for a minute," Mycroft said.

"Not a chance," Beth said immediately. "Whatever or whoever Magnussen is...it involves me too. I have a right to know."

Mycroft massaged his forehead. "Beth..."

She shook her head. "I don't want to hear it," she said. "This concerns me too and as such I will be listening. Not asking questions, mind, just listening."

Mycroft stared at her a long time, and then sighed, "I'll bring in tea."


	8. Chapter 8

"So...Uncle." Beth squinted at Sherlock and crossed her arms. "Who's Magnussen?"  
"The one person I can safely say I truly hate," Sherlock responded.  
Beth pouted. "But I thought you hated me!" she cocked her head. "He must be dead to you."  
Sherlock winked at her. "Not bad, newbie. But you'll have to do more than that to fit in with this family."  
Beth leaned back. "Who says I want to fit in?"  
Sherlock smirked and Mycroft came back with tea for him and Sherlock, and a hot chocolate for Beth. "Well, at least you remember that I can't taste tea," she shrugged and accepted the mug.  
"You're allergic to all teas?" Sherlock asked with a scoff.  
"No, I literally can't taste it. It's just warm water to me. Thus, I can't stand the stuff. Except peppermint tea. Sometimes I can taste that, and when I'm sick I use it on my throat."  
Sherlock sighed. "Definitely American, then."

Beth arched her eyebrows and smirked as she sipped the hot chocolate. "Stupidly proud about it on July 4th, every year, too," she said.

Mycroft gave her a look that all but screamed  _why?_  


"Because over 60 countries celebrate getting rid of this country and we were the first, that's why," she stated. "Now, back to Magnussen?"

Sherlock looked at Mycroft and Beth huffed. "I find it offensive that you don't look at me when I ask a question," she pouted.

Mycroft made to say something but Beth held up a finger. "I'm 15. While I by no means can handle everything, this directly concerns me and I need to know what it's about to protect myself, right? At least give me a description of what he looks like, or I'm going to Google and finding out everything you never wanted me to know."

"Why must everything come down to the Internet with you?" Mycroft asked in frustration.

"Because usually we're arguing over information flow!" Beth shot back.

Sherlock looked between the two, trying to discern who had more power. "Magnussen is...the Napoleon of Blackmail. If he wants something his way, give him a month at most and anyone he needs will bend to his will. He's a very dangerous man, not someone you want to poke a stick at."

"That sounds dangerous. Why would I want to poke a stick at him?" she asked innocently.

"You're not fooling anyone, Beth," Mycroft warned.

Beth shrugged. "Fact remains, I don't go poking sticks at things anymore just because I'm curious. Did that to a bully once, couldn't see clearly for a week, and even then everything hurt," she volunteered.

Mycroft pursed his lips, and took a sip of his tea. "What would Magnussen want you for?"

Beth frowned. "Thought that would be obvious, wouldn't it? If you care for me, then he needs to get to me in order to get to you. The ways he could get to me are small. There _was_ my mom, and then there's Arthur still, and..." she shrugged. "That's about it."

Sherlock snickered and gave Mycroft a knowing look. Beth snapped, "Oi! I said 'about'! Thought that last one was more or less a given, considering I don't want to go into foster care!"

Mycroft gave her a tight-lipped smile and she looked at Sherlock, unimpressed. Sherlock frowned and tried the tea, grimacing. "I hate fruit blends," he grumbled.

"Really? I can sometimes taste those. Sometimes," Beth said. "Some of them I can stand, before they're just water again."

Sherlock looks at her, disgusted, before turning to Mycroft. "She's a disgrace," he says with a scowl.

Beth makes an exageratted 'oh' with her mouth. "Well, _sorry_ , Uncle. I had no idea that like certain types of tea made you a Holmes. That's what it said on my birth certificate, you know. Always have been a Holmes. Maybe not one  _you_ respect, with all you drama queen-ness and your sass, but a Holmes nonetheless. You don't respect that? Don't let the door hit you on the way out. I certainly won't miss you."

Sherlock looked at her, scandalized. Mycroft actually held out his fist, and Beth enthusiastically bumped it. "Nailed it!" she muttered, and Mycroft looked over at her, clearly pleased. "Looks like you've been outnumbered on this one, Sherlock," Mycroft laughed.

"I just have one question," Sherlock said.

Mycroft nodded for him to continue.

"Does Mummy know?"

Mycroft choked on his tea and Beth cackled. "Oh, dear! You didn't tell my grandparents I existed? You said that you did!"

"I said I  _would_. I lost my nerve."

Beth continued to laugh. "Want me to call them with no explanation given whatsoever?"

"Don't you dare!" Mycroft exclaimed.

Beth reached for the phone. "Sherlock," she sang. "Is your mother the 'grandma' or the 'grandmother' type?"

"Don't!" Mycroft protested.

Beth just looked at Sherlock. "Number?"

"Wait!" Mycroft said. "At least let me talk a minute first!"

Beth grinned and handed the phone to Mycroft. He dialed the number with shaking hands and held the phone like one would a bomb. "Ah, h-hello, Mummy. I, um, apparently have forgotten to make a very important call to you, and...the person who the call is about just brought it up...No, you don't know her yet. It's...sort of hard to explain..."

Beth snatched the phone away. "Oh, no it's not. He just doesn't want to admit it. See, what happened was he got married drunk in Vegas 15 years ago, and happened to make me. He has a daughter. Who he found out about...a month ago now. That's why you never saw me and why he never mentioned me. Name's Annabeth, I go by Beth though." She paused and listened to the other end. "You want to talk to him again? All right, I'll hand the line over." Beth cheerfully passed the line over to Mycroft again and giggled at the yelling that commenced the second he opened his mouth to defend himself.

"You're evil," Sherlock said.

"I know," Beth chuckled.


	9. Chapter 9

Beth was about to skip out the door 2 weeks after that day when Mycroft ordered, "Stop!"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Beth turned around, lifting her arms out as if to say,  _What do you want me to say?_  


"Going to say anything to your grandparents before you leave?" Mycroft said from the living room where he was sitting with the eldest Holmeses in the line that were still alive.

Beth poked her head in, twisting her braid into a bun on the back of her head as she did so. "I'm going to see a friend, I won't be long," she promised all of them.

Mycroft took a sniff and frowned. "Are you wearing perfume?"

"Yeah, actually, I'm surprised you noticed," she said.

"And you're doing your hair..." Mycroft said suspiciously. "Not to mention the nice blouse you're wearing, and that pair of jeans you think are particularly flattering...you're going on a date."

Beth widened her eyes in mock-horror. "Oh, no, you've found me out! It's not the end of the world, Dad," she sighed.

"Mikey, let the poor girl out. You constantly have her cooped up in here!" Mrs. Holmes chided.

Beth smirked in silent victory.

"She's being hunted by a possible killer, I don't want to see her get hurt," Mycroft argued.

Beth rolled her eyes. "It's been half a month, Biological Father. If something were to happen to me, it would have already happened."

Mycroft glowered at her. She stared benignly right back. "Get in here," Mycroft ordered.

Beth groaned and pulled out her phone. "Fine, but Arthur is going to come here then."

"Absolutely not!" Mycroft protested.

"Come onnnnnn, Dad. We can stay in the kitchen if it makes you feel better. I just want to talk to him, you know?" Beth pleaded.

"No, I don't," Mycroft replied cooly.

"Mikey!" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed. "Let the girl see her friend!"

"But he's a  _boy!_ He can't be trusted!" Mycroft whined.

Beth watched the man crumple with a grin. She texted Arthur telling him to come in and he opened the front door sheepishly. "How'd you know I was out there?" he asked.

"I got used to the acoustics of the house," Beth shrugged. "Grandmother, grandfather, this is Arthur, my best friend since forever. And the boy who _was_  my mock-date."

"Best friends since we were 5," Arthur amended.

"Same difference," Beth shrugged.

"Well, I'm glad you have someone over here that you trust, dear," Mrs. Holmes said. "Your father has a lot to answer for, however."

"Oh, definitely," Beth laughed. "He hasn't even explained everything to  _me_ yet. His own daughter!"

"Some things are better left unsaid," Mycroft said.

"Oh! I call bull!" Arthur explained. "I call bullcrap!"

"Yeah!" Beth exclaimed, high-fiving Arthur.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her. She grinned and dragged Arthur upstairs to her room, leaving the door open so that Mycroft wouldn't freak out if he decided to show his face. Then she flopped on the bed, inviting Arthur to sit next to her. "Come, now, relax a while," she teased.

"What are you, a succubus?" Arthur teased right back.

Beth laughed loudly. "No, of course not!" she grinned. "What should we do?" she asked.

"We could...play some computer games? Start up that gaming channel we always wanted to do?"

Beth shrugged. "Eh...I don't really want to sift through my games at the moment."

Arthur pulled a face at her and pulled out her laptop from under the bed. "We could read bad fanfiction over-dramatically again," he laughed. "Remember that?"

Beth cackled. "How could I forget? 'Oh, Arthur, never leave me again!'" she quoted.

"'Fear not, my Lady Guinevere, for I am merely preparing you a room at my castle!'" Arthur laughed.

"That room better not be occupied until she's 18," a voice said from the doorway.

Beth squeaked. "Oh! Dad! We were...um...reciting fanfiction from memory, not actually having a conversation with each other," she stammered, blushing.

Mycroft gave the two of them a look and made a noise in the back of his throat. "There are days I regret knowing you exist," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, ow," Beth snarked. "Those the days you leave me alone in the house 20 hours to the day, with barely any food that I can actually cook with?"

"No, the day after those, where you refuse to shut up," Mycroft smoothly replied.

Beth scowled. "Whatever. I'm relatively quiet when Arthur's over, and the door's open, you can see we're not doing anything unsavory, in whichever way you'd like to interpret that."

Arthur choked on air. "Oh my gosh, Beth, you and I both know we're both...you know!"

"Virgins?" Mycroft supplied. "That's good to hear, Mister Knight. And I hope at least  _one_ of you, a very specific one, remains that way."

"Dad. Stop," Beth ordered. "Gosh, why would anyone  _want_ to do that sort of thing at 15?! I don't...sure, I make people uncomfortable, but..." she shuddered. "Ew."

Arthur jutted a thumb out at her. "I agree to some extent. I'm just sort of...indifferent. Though, I'm a sucker for a good romance."

"As opposed to a..." Beth raised her eyebrows. " _Bad Romance_?"

Arthur groaned and Beth dissolved into giggles. "Come on, Dad, lighten up. We're not going to do anything big! Especially not here!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mycroft asked.

"It means here we just...hang out. Maybe other places we might play a game or something, but here's good for talking. So we talk. Harmless."

Mycroft clearly didn't believe her. "Well, your grandparents are eager to meet your...friend," he said the word like it was poison. "So you'll have to save 'hanging out' for another time."

Beth rolled her eyes. "And say we want to stay up here and not be bothered? What then?" she drawled.

Mycroft glowered at her. "Then you'll finally get to hear me yell."

Arthur paled. "Beth, it's gonna be 5 minutes at most. Let's just do it."

Beth turned to Arthur. "Why, I doubt he can yell higher than 65 decibels, on the outside."

"Annabeth, this is your last chance," Mycroft warned.

Beth turned to him and crossed her arms. "Have at it."

Arthur covered his ears and flinched, but nothing happened. Beth got the first giggle out before Mycroft took a deep breath. " _Annabeth Lily Holmes, you get downstairs now or there will be consequences!_ "

Beth jumped off the bed and sprinted out of the room, her ears ringing. Arthur quickly followed her. "I told you," he whispered.

"Oh, shut up," Beth grumbled, hitting the outside of her ear and shaking her head. "My ears are ringing," she informed him.

The two walked down the steps, Arthur subdued but grinning, and Beth scowling. "You want something to drink? I want something to drink."

"Beth..." Arthur warned.

"He can't yell at me for getting water. All I want is a glass of water," Beth said innocently.

Arthur shook his head. "He really could. He might not get approval for it, but he could."

Beth shrugged and turned to the kitchen. "Wrong direction, Beth," Mycroft warned from the top of the stairs.

"I'm getting. A glass. Of water," she ground out.

"Not right now you're not," Mycroft said.

"Yes I am," Beth said exaggerated, strolling towards the kitchen. "Oh, how  _horrible_! I'm  _thirsty_!"

Arthur stared at her in shock. She smiled at him and continued going to the kitchen, filling two glasses with water, and walking back to the bottom of the stairs, handing on to Arthur. "Close your mouth. You'll attract flies."

Still staring, Arthur sipped at the water. "You're dead," he mouthed.

"Well aware," she mouthed back. Looked up the stairs. "Mycroft's gone. Where? Living room, of course," she glanced over. "He's holding my books hostage for leverage!" she exclaimed.

Arthur looked nervous. "Do we dare?"

"Of course!" Beth said, chipper. She offered her arm to him, and he linked his to hers.

"We're both dead," Arthur amended, upon looking at the 3 faces in the living room.

"Nonsense, dear!" Mrs. Holmes said. "No one's going to hurt you!"

"That's up for debate, I could easily hurt him like this," Beth pointed out.

"But you won't," Mycroft warned, borderline threatened.

"Well, no, he's my best friend, thanks for spoiling the surprise," Beth said sarcastically. "So. Let's talk, I guess."


	10. Chapter 10

"So, Arthur, how long have you known Beth?" Mrs. Holmes asked politely.

"We've, uh, been friends since kindergarten," Arthur said, looking to Beth desperately.

"We sat next to each other in school for the first 2 weeks of school, before the administration got tired of trying to deal with me and bumped me up to 3rd grade. Socially I was a disaster, but I was a disaster socially in my own age group. And I got to graduate before I moved here," Beth shrugged. "Not much to tell. We Skyped when Arthur moved back here, and met rather by chance 2 weeks ago."

Arthur laughed. "Yeah, and we ran down into the Tube system for a bit of fun, memorizing a few of the stops. Well, she memorized. She's good with words."

Beth blushed and grinned. "A little. I'm a fine arts person in general. I write and sketch, mostly, but singing terribly in the shower is fun, too."

"That's nice," Mr. Holmes said. "Do you two collaborate with this?"

Beth and Arthur laughed. "Heck no!" Beth exclaimed. "The one time we tried, I nearly punctured Arthur's lung with a pen in frustration!"

Arthur chuckled. "The only reason she didn't was because her mom was downstairs, and she didn't want to hide a body from the woman!"

Beth's laughter subdued and her smile grew sad. "Those were the days, eh?"

Arthur hugged her and she perked up just a bit. "Sorry I couldn't be there sooner," he sighed.

"Don't worry about it," she chirped, albeit forcefully. "I got to stay with Jeeves a while, remember him? And then I got to come here and see you again. In person, no less!"

"Did we miss something?" Mrs. Holmes asked.

"Oh, uh, yeah...my mom, she sorta got executed. Got written off as gang violence. That's why I'm here now. I was nearly put up for adoption, except a CIA agent put two-and-two together, and I got to be here instead of in foster care," Beth exclaimed.

The entire room fell silent. Beth took a sip of her water and breathed out slowly. "Excuse me," she said, standing up and gliding out of the room.

Up the stairs, take a left, the last room on the right side, close and lock the door. She slumped to the floor and leaned her head against the wall. Her eyes were on fire.  _Don't cry...don't cry...don't cry!_ She tried to think of something to help her calm down. There was the time she and her mom...no. Re-meeting Arthur...across an ocean after losing all her other friends who weren't online regularly...no. That stuffed bear mom gave her...did she still have it? She hadn't checked in her luggage since she'd gotten here, it'd been too painful. She got up and ran out of the bathroom, passing Arthur in the hallway, and falling to her knees in front of her closet. "It has to be here..." she muttered.

"Beth? You okay?" Arthur asked behind her.

"It has to be! I couldn't have left her behind!" she explained.

Arthur knelt next to her as she pulled out her luggage. "What are we looking for?"

"Remember Julia?" I asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah your mum...gave her...to you. Oh. I'll start looking."

The two upended her luggage and came out victorious, in two ways. Arthur found Julia, her old worn teddy bear, and Beth found her mom's old jewelry box that she had nicked from her mom's dresser before someone else could. Beth snatched Julia away and hugged her, breathing in her scent. It smelled like home. Because for all her talking, she really couldn't call this place home, not yet. "My mom's jewelry box," Beth said, holding it up. "I forgot I nicked it."

"What's inside?" Arthur asked.

Beth shrugged. "No idea. Want to look at it together?"

Arthur waved for her to lead the way. Beth opened it and carefully removed the top shelf from the box, since that was empty save for a few buttons. Underneath, there was her mom's class ring, a sheet of paper, and a little gold heart locket. Arthur opened the paper and laughed. "It's their marriage certificate," he giggled.

Beth smiled through her tears. "The craziest thing is that I can see her keeping that."

"What's in the locket?" Arthur asked.

Beth opened it with fumbling fingers and smiled. Inside was a picture of her mom and Mycroft on their wedding night on the left, and a picture of her as a little girl on the right. "It's so...mom," she whispered.

Arthur smiled. "Well, it's yours now, seeing as how she's gone away."

"You make it sound like she's coming back," Beth sighed.

Arthur smiled. "Sorry, it's just, that's the euphemism I always prefer to use. Leaving things open-ended. It's better than 'they were here, now they're not' in the early stages of grief.

"It's been all of a month, you'd at least think I was beyond depression at this point."

"Beth, look at me," Arthur ordered. "Come on, look."

She tilted her head and looked at him pleadingly.

"Your mom died. And I'm sorry. But she's gone. It was too soon. And it was malicious. And it wasn't fair. And it _hurts_. I _know_ , it _hurts_. But you have to believe me when I say, eventually, you'll have to move on. Being happy is all well and good until someone brings up your mom and you have to run so no one can see your tears. It's  _okay_ to be sad, all right? Don't shove it down."

Beth's eyes clouded over and she sobbed. "But it  _hurts_ , Arthur! It hurts my chest!"

Arthur hugged her. "Sh, sh, I know it does, Beth. I know."

Beth clung to Arthur as if she's get lost in her emotions otherwise. She always thought herself pretty mature, but she had no knowledge on how to properly grieve, her grandparents on her mother's side both alive, albeit estranged and in no condition to raise a teenager. She was picked up from her comfort zone and flown across a good portion of the "Western World" and expected to be her same old self, because she knew her biological father was worse in this whole situation than she was. And she had been through enough; this was just the straw that broke the camel's back. She sobbed into Arthur's shoulder and tried to explain how it felt like she had lost her heart that night, but it mostly came out as sobs that Arthur simply shushed as he assured her that things would be all right.

When she was done and started to pull away, Arthur took the locket from her hands, closed it, and clasped it around her neck. "Your mother isn't gone, not entirely. She's still here," Arthur said, pointing to her head. "That's why it hurts. And eventually, the pain will start to fade but the memories won't. And that's acceptance."

Beth put her hand over her mother's locket. "But why does it have to  _hurt_?"

"Chemical receptor thingys, you'd probably know better than me," Arthur waved a hand.

"I wasn't asking scientifically," Beth giggled.

"Yeah, well, I was answering scientifically, so tough beans."

Beth laughed. "Oh, you're gonna get it if you ever decide you like, want to date me or something. You'd be eaten alive!"

"But you could have my heart for dinner, still beating, if you chose," Arthur said with a swoon.

"How romantic," Beth said drily. She took a breath. "Ready to go back downstairs?"

Arthur nodded. "After you, Lady Guinevere."


	11. Chapter 11

Beth was awake once again in the middle of the night from nightmares, and she was walking downstairs when she heard it. "Yes, I know what time it is. I was rather under the impression you didn't sleep."

She crept down the stairs to listen better.

"--Sherlock, I don't care. I just want your opinion on the case! Do you have any idea the lengths I had to go to for this file?"

Just a little closer...she had to hear this.

"Look, I thought the Sooth case might interest you, seeing as how your own niece--"

  
_Sooth_. That was her mother's surname, before she "married" and after the subsequent "divorce". She got down to the last step and made no effort to hide her footsteps to the kitchen and turned on the tap all the way to fill the glass. She wasn't surprised when she heard footsteps behind her. "You should be asleep," Mycroft said.

"So should you," Beth said. "I'm just getting a glass of water. You're the one who's talking on the phone at 3 AM."

"Touche," Mycroft chuckled, grabbing a stool and sitting on it.

"Question for you," Beth said quietly, taking a sip from her glass.

"Shoot, though, not literally," Mycroft said.

"Why would you have Sherlock looking into Mom's case?" she turned around and Mycroft looked stricken. She frowned. "You all right Da--"

Mycroft held up a hand. "There are a few things I need to say, right now, before we talk about this. All right?"

Beth closed her mouth and nodded.

"First, I'm tired of you coming up with different ways of calling me your biological parent. You believe none of them, so I'm hereby giving you permission to use my first name."

Beth nodded. That, at least, wasn't a total surprise.

"Second, there is a blackmailer out there looking for your blood. My brother, mentally unstable as he is sometimes, does this sort of this for a living, and I trust no one more than him to find the true reason behind a death.

"Third, I don't know what, if anything, your mother said about me, but I'm sure I was never put in a positive light to you. I'm not sure if I ever should be. But for all my errors, I did care for your mother. Not just that night, either. She was a dear friend who I lost to a stupid mistake. And I want justice as much as you do. I may be heartless, but I sometimes find it in me to care, and I care about you, too. I want to make sure you're okay. And that means taking steps to make sure you're comfortable and out of danger, no matter the personal cost to me, understand?"

Beth nodded silently. They stood there, analyzing each other, before Beth coughed. "I should...go back to bed..." she trailed off.

Mycroft nodded and put the stool back in its original position. "As should I. I have work tomorrow, and you'll be 'bonding' with Sherlock for a little bit."

Beth groaned and poured the rest of her water in the sink, putting the glass down on its rim to the side, to wash in the morning. "Night, then...uh, Mycroft." The name felt weird on her tongue. But no weirder than 'Dad' did, so she may as well use it.

The steps seemed long and pointless as she stumbled to bed. She could feel Mycroft's eyes on her for a majority of the trip, before he turned away to other matters. Beth collapsed on her bed, head buried in her pillow, wondering how this became her life, and if she could ever switch it back.

* * *

Next morning, she was still at Mycroft's house. She groaned and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her nightmares were not productive for sleep. She padded downstairs and made herself breakfast, grabbed her laptop from where it was charging, and Googled Magnussen. Honestly, she would have before but she was scared to. She thought something heinously evil would happen to her, or that Mycroft would instantly know what she was searching and scold her. But he just grunted at her as he walked in and made himself coffee. "You're addicted to that stuff, you know," Beth pointed out. "One day you're gonna go into withdrawal because you don't have time for your morning cup."

"Coffee now, speak later," Mycroft mumbled.

Beth laughed. Mycroft winced at the sound. "I'm looking up Magnussen," she said helpfully.

Mycroft grunted absently, watching the pot fill with coffee.

"Hey, guess what, Mom's alive," Beth said.

Another grunt.

"I'm going to run away with Arthur and become an Egyptian belly dancer, Mycroft, do I have your blessing?"

"Mm-hm," he said distractedly.

Beth looked at the search results. "Fan-bl--"

"Don't swear," Mycroft interrupted.

"I was going to say 'bleeding'," Beth rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, no you weren't, I can tell, and I'm never wrong." The coffee finished and Mycroft poured himself a mug, taking a long dreg from it. "I needed that. Now, what were you saying before you started swearing?"

"I wasn't swearing!" Beth protested.

"Suuure..." Mycroft said, taking another dreg of coffee. "I redact my blessing, by the way."

"Ah ah ah. You can't take away blessings once they've been given. It's against the rules!" Beth declared.

"What rules?" Mycroft scoffed.

"Ours."

Mycroft went quiet. "We have rules?"

Beth shrugged. " _I_ thought we did, anyway."

"What do these rules entail, exactly?"

Beth shrugged. "Not bothering you while you work, not bugging me while I'm reading, not antagonizing Sherlock alone,  _ever_ , that sort of thing. Not lying is key, though. 'Cause telling the truth's the only way we can help each other with a problem."

Mycroft sipped at his coffee, silent. "That's what Alice told me more than once..."

Beth smiled and grasped at her mother's pendant still around her neck. "Yeah, well...Mom's still in my brain, and in my DNA. Can't help sounding like her sometimes."

Mycroft nodded. "Can you handle yourself on your own today, or should I send you to Arthur so you two can watch each other? I'll be working late, you'll have to rely on your own culinary skills for dinner."

"I'm fine on my own...Mycroft," Beth ran her tongue over her teeth and shook her head. "Nope, still weird."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Yes, well then, offspring, I'll see you tonight. Sherlock will check up on you during lunch."

Beth nodded and gave him a grim-tinged smile. "See you," she said as he left the room. She sighed when he was gone. She didn't like this, one bit.

And she couldn't help but feel like nothing good could come from her being stuck in a house alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing Camp NaNo, so don't be surprised if this updates more sporadically. You have been warned.


	12. Chapter 12

Beth was reading casually on the couch when she heard the knock at the door, at 10 in the morning. She opened the door, expecting to see Arthur up to something, but she was surprised when she saw Lestrade standing on the other side. "Inspector Lestrade!" she exclaimed. "What a surprise to see you! Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head. "Is your father here?"

Beth looked up the stairs and bit her lip. Sure, Lestrade wasn't a  _total_ stranger, but he and Beth weren't exactly buddy-buddy. "He's busy at the moment." Not technically a lie. "Will I be good enough to pass along a message?"

"Beth," Lestrade said. "I need to know if your father is home. He didn't show up to work this morning."

Beth felt a lump rise in her throat, but she swallowed it. "He's not home at the moment, no. Should be back soon enough, though, and Sherlock's coming over to make lunch. Um, you sure I can't get you anything?"

Lestrade leveled her with a look. "Beth. You're lying. Furthermore, you're lying to a  _copper_. Think carefully about what that means."

"All right! No, he was leaving for work this morning last I saw him. I don't know what could have happened to him. He's...well. He's himself. Something could have distracted him, or someone. He said there was like, a hit out on me or something. Maybe he found the guy, wants to make him pay? Your guess is as good as mine, honestly. I wish I could be of more help. Just, don't make me stay with Sherlock. He's crazier than Mycroft."

Lestrade frowned. "You call your father by his first name?"

"On his request," Beth said, shrugging. She looked up the street and saw the glint of something dull and black in a window. _Gun, Annabeth! It's a sniper rifle!_ "There's someone with a gun up the street, please, get inside," Beth whispered, gesturing for Lestrade to get in.

His eyes widened and he quickly got inside, Beth following and shutting the door behind her. She eyed the windows. "This isn't good," she murmured. "Not good at all. Whoever is hunting me is too close." She took a deep breath and mentally went over all the possible weapons in the house. "Um um um...oh! Mycroft's study, he hides a taser! Good for if an assailant comes to the door. And there are knives in the kitchen, what else..." Beth frowned. "Not too many things that one could get hurt with, I'm actually kind of insulted that he would baby-proof a house when he's getting a teenager."

Lestrade chuckled but pulled out his phone. "I'll call for back up here. It'll take them all of 10 minutes, and they know how to be discreet."

"Police? Discreet? I have yet to see that outside TV and movies," Beth said, nonplussed.

Lestrade gave her a glare. "Watch it, Ms. Holmes."

Beth pulled a face. "Oh, sorry. I'm just used to free speech."

"One more wise crack and I wouldn't be surprised if someone decked you."

Beth smiled benignly. "Whatever you say, Mr. Copper. Can I use you in one of my stories?"

Lestrade growled. "Look, where's a safe place in your house that doesn't have windows?"

Beth considered. "I...the basement, I suppose. It was used as a shelter in World War 2, Mycroft says. Come on, I'll show you." She led Lestrade into the basement and gave him a false smile. "Homey, right?"

Lestrade gave her a look. "You know, you don't have to be chipper about this."

Beth swallowed and stared at the ground. "What else am I supposed to do, though? This isn't mourning, this is the potential, right in front of me, to die. At least in mourning no one has to question why you're white as ash or you yell at people who tick you off over the little things. I want to kick that sniper in his jewels if he's a he. If she's a she I'd just throw her out a window. I've lost enough in my life, why didn't they get the memo?"

Lestrade gave her a look. "Hey, it's all right--"

" _No. It's not_." Beth glared at him. "It's not all right to be scared. It's not all right to be angry about this. Those emotions get you killed in these situations. They make you reckless. They make you hide like fish in a barrel. Easy pickings. We can't stay here like this!"

Lestrade sighed, and nodded. "Yeah. I know. But what is there to do?"

Beth reached into her pocket and pulled out a pocketknife she was keeping there. "Don't tell Mycroft. He doesn't know I snuck this past airport security."

Lestrade frowned. "You admit to smuggling a weapon onto a plane?"

Beth held a finger to her lips and smirked. "'Course not. It's a traumatized girl's words against yours."

There was a knock at the door. The two froze. _Knock knock knock. Knock knock knock. Knock knock knock._ The one behind it wouldn't let up. Beth flicked out one of the blades in the knife, holding it in a shaking hand. Lestrade pulled her behind him in a protective measure. The door above them was knocked in. Beth jumped a foot but didn't make a sound. There was the sound of loafers on hardwood floor, before there was a loud thump. Beth rushed up the stairs, not able to hold her curiosity at bay. "Beth!" Lestrade shouted.

Beth froze at the top of the stairs, finding Mycroft's assistant Anthea standing over an unconscious man with a gun in his hand. Beth sagged. "My gosh, Anthea, you have perfect timing. How did you sneak in with heels?!"

Anthea shrugged and smiled, as sirens wailed in the background. "You okay, dear?"

"Yeah," Beth breathed. She looked down to find her hand shakily holding the knife. She hastily put it away. "I am now."

Lestrade came up the steps and Beth moved out of the way to let him through. He took the gun out of the assassin's hand and cuffed him. Police came through the open door and Beth explained what had happened, minus the part with the knife. Soon the house was labelled as a crime scene, police coming in and out as they pleased. Beth was situated on the stairs with a shock blanket sitting next to her, Anthea on the other side of it. "How are you feeling kid?" Anthea asked.

"Breathless," Beth said. "My heart's pounding. I haven't been this rattled since that man pulled a gun on me and my mom and my mom told me to run. You know what the last thing I told her was? It wasn't 'I love you'. It was, 'Mom, don't do this. Don't be an idiot.'"

Anthea sniffed. "Your father used to tell that to her all the time, did you know that? I think it was his way of saying 'I love you' to her. To him, it was always platonic, though. If you said that to her, it's possible that she saw that as you caring for her. More than possible, really."

Beth sighed. "I'm stupid. And I lose everyone around me. What's so important about me, anyway? Why would anyone bother?"

Anthea awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder. "You know your dad's probably just caught up in something else. He gets abduction attempts all the time. It's nothing new, the only new factor is you. And you can stay with me, if you want. It might make you feel better."

Beth laughed. "Oh, yeah. Much. My mom is dead, my dad's who-knows-where, my uncle belongs in an insane asylum, and my best friend is hated by everyone except me and my new grandparents. But sure! Everything will be okay if I move out!"

Anthea sighed. "You sound like him, you know. You inherited his brain."

"Yeah? Well he can take it back. I hate it. It's brought me nothing but trouble all these years," Beth spat. She stood up. "I'll be in my room. Don't bother me."

She ran up the stairs and slammed her door, locking it. She fell onto her bed, and when she was sure no one could get in, let herself drown in the fear.


	13. Chapter 13

There was a knock at Beth's door, and not the first one, either. Several people had tried to get her to come out, but she shot all of them down. Beth had covered her windows with curtains, so no one could tell when she was in shooting range, and she had her emergency backpack out and filled with everything she needed if she were to leave. She was currently packing a suitcase full of her T shirts and jeans, and two or three blouses. She unlocked the door just as another knock started, and Beth looked up, glaring at her Uncle. "So I'm to leave with you, am I?"

Sherlock bristled. "Anthea didn't seem fit to raise a child."

"You aren't, either." Beth slammed the door in his face and went back to her suitcase, putting in socks and closing it up. She put both her backpack and her suitcase on her bed and sat down next to them, suddenly feeling drained of energy. The door opened and Sherlock walked in, his arms crossed. "Why are you just sitting here?"

Beth shrugged. "How should I know?"

Sherlock crouched down in front of her bed. "Come on, devil spawn. It's only fun to spar when you fight back."

"I'm not devil spawn, I'm an American," Beth sighed.

"Same difference," Sherlock joked with a smile.

Beth didn't even blink.

Sherlock sighed and sat next to her, not saying anything. They sat. And sat. And sat. Eventually, "I don't even want to be here." A whispered confession.

"I know you don't," Sherlock assured quietly. "If you're here, it means your mom's gone for good, and no one wants that. I met her once or twice. She was a good woman."

Beth pulled her knees up under her chin. "I'm not as sad as I was, but that doesn't mean I'm not sad. And Mycroft just sees my mom whenever he sees me. It's not fair. And it drives me up the wall. But I don't want him gone. I mean, he offered some semblance of normalcy. And now that's gone."

"It won't be for long, I'm on the case," Sherlock said.

Beth snickered. "And you're better than the police, how? You're a glorified 'Eye Spy' aficionado."

"Oi!" Sherlock yelled. Beth genuinely laughed. Sherlock smacked her arm. "So, you're coming to stay with me for a little while. I take it this is your stuff all packed?"

"The stuff I need, yeah," Beth sighed. "Clothes, and stuff to keep me from making everything explode." She smiled and looked at Sherlock, some of the mischief in her eyes again. "Bet you'd like to keep me out of your experiments, that's how," she nodded to the backpack.

"You're pretty organized," Sherlock noted.

"I lived with an ambassador and now live with my biological father who travels frequently to places all over. I'm used to being self sufficient. I had memorized my mom's spiel to babysitters before I was fully potty trained. It's all I've ever known."

Sherlock sighed. "That's...sad."

Beth shrugged. "Mom gave me weekends as our time, and we were always close. Mycroft? I don't know. We don't get along. I'm not sure where we stand. But that's a part of life, isn't it?" Beth's smile fell. "He was my ticket to normalcy. And we were coming to an understanding. Now? Why wouldn't I go into the system, just like I was going to before? Except now there are no more miracle family members to swoop in. Are you even cleared to take care of a kid?"

"As of an hour ago. Come on. It's no home, but it's a place to stay. It's somewhat normal. And John can guarantee you 3 meals a day. Will you come with us?"

Beth looked at him, and slowly nodded. "Will you take my suitcase?"

Sherlock nodded and picked up the suitcase. Beth grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. And together the two walked out of the house and went to Baker Street, both intent on making their family whole again.

* * *

Across town, in an old, beat-up van, was a man with a bag over his head, with just enough air to breathe without passing out. His hands were bound by the wrists with rope and his ankles were cuffed together. With him were 3 other men. "What do we do with him before we drop him off?" the shortest one asked.

"Hurt him if he tries to get up," the driver said. "Otherwise, he's to be in pristine condition, boss' orders."

"Shame. I was hoping that I could do something to him in honor of my brother," the bald one said.

"You can later. First we make sure he gets dropped off, then we get that girl of his."

The bound man's breath hitched. "Well, well, Sleeping Beauty's awake after all," the driver laughed. "Hear what you want to, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft tried to get up in the moving van but the driver slammed on the brakes and he was thrown into the seats in front of him. He groaned. "Oh, the poor boy hurt himself trying to save his daughter from us, how sweet is that?" the bald one laughed.

"You leave my daughter alone, you--" the van took a sharp turn and Mycroft slid into the wall. "Crap..." he moaned.

All 3 men laughed. "You're too cute," the bald man chuckled. "It's a shame boss wants you, I'd love to play with someone with a mind like yours."

"Focus, Schmidt. He's not here for your entertainment."

Schmidt grumbled. Mycroft tried to get up one more time and almost succeeded before the short one put a knife to his neck. "Easy, or I'll slit your throat, and that darlin' daughter of yours'll have no one left to take care of her."

Mycroft didn't move. The short one laughed. "Turns out Mycroft 'The Ice Man' Holmes does have a heart after all!"

"Focus, Fitzgerald!" the driver ordered. "Don't damage the package!"

Fitzgerald snarled but shoved Mycroft to the floor of the van. He sighed in his bag and just hoped that they would leave Beth alone, and short that, Sherlock would be able to adequately protect her.

  
_I'm screwed, in Beth's words_ , Mycroft thought grimly. He chuckled, unable to help himself. "Hey, shut up!" Schmidt yelled, kicking Mycroft in the diaphragm. Mycroft coughed, but kept laughing. Hysteria proved to be an unstoppable force. Hopefully, time would prove the people protecting Beth would as well.


	14. Chapter 14

Beth sat at the kitchen table across from John, who kept sending her weird looks when he thought she wasn't looking. She always was, and always returned his looks with her best fake smile, the one that everyone said made her look uncannily like Mycroft. She was wearing a Nirvana T-shirt that was currently being abused by pizza sauce, flour, and bits of cheese, because John had decided the one thing to get everyone to cheer up was making their own pizza. Sherlock participated, had one slice, and deemed himself done, and that was only because John had forced him to eat. Beth would check on him from time to time, but he was always staring at his clue wall, which was currently blank. Beth finished her 3rd slice of pizza, and got up, wiping her hands on a napkin before picking up the stack of pictures Sherlock had on the table. She took the one with the girl and the tattoo and tacked it on the wall. Then, the picture of the man with the gun and put that up. She sifted through more of the photos, finding a picture of Magnussen. She grabbed that and stuck that up, along with the man who had tried to take her on the train, and connected those two together. "I think it's safe to say that me and Mycroft are connected, yeah?" Beth said, taking a step back. "So if we find who wants me, we can find who wants him bad enough to send someone after me as well."

Sherlock looked over at her work and frowned. "You have more information than I do on this subject. Who's the man that's not connected to anything else?"

Beth smiled. "Oh, he tried to kill me earlier today. No biggie."

Sherlock nodded and went back to thinking. John came out into the living room. "How often do you get attempts on your life?"

"Oh, like, 9 times. A day," Beth said with a completely straight face.

John blinked. "With your family I can never tell when someone's joking."

Beth grinned. "I'm joking, pretty boy."

Sherlock turned sharply to her. "No. Don't do that."

Beth sighed. "Not one for levity, are you, Uncle? I'll be in your room, unless you insist I be the one to sleep on the couch, when you so obviously meditate on it almost nightly."

Sherlock tilted his head. "You're better."

"Yeah, well, Mycroft was teaching me," Beth shrugged. "Like I said, your room. What's the wi-fi password, unless it really is '1895LOCKED'?"

Sherlock sputtered. "How did you...?"

"It was on a sticky on John's computer. Night!" she called.

Beth closed the bedroom door and jumped onto Sherlock's bed, opening her laptop and entering her browser. A Skype request came up from Arthur, and she readily answered it. "Beth?! What happened?! I went over to your place and it was swarming with police! They wouldn't tell me anything! Are you all right?!"

"Fine, Arthur. Don't worry. Mycroft got kidnapped and a man came to get me with a gun. It's no big deal. I'm staying at Sherlock and John's."

"I'm coming over," Arthur decided.

"What?! No, you're not! It's too dangerous!" Beth exclaimed. "Sherlock might kill you! I'll meet up with you tomorrow, yeah? No unexpected visits yet, not until the tension dies down."

Arthur looked like he wanted to protest, but reluctantly nodded. "All right, stay safe, Beth."

"Always, Arthur. Always," Beth assured.

* * *

The warehouse didn't prove to be much better than the van was. Mycroft was still tied up, this time to a chair, and his head was still covered, blocking out most light. He could hear a chuckle come from somewhere close by, and Mycroft turned his head to try and figure out where the figure was. If he could find the echo's angle, he could find the source...the bag was ripped off his head. "Wakey wakey," Schmidt said with glee.

Mycroft blinked in the harsh fluorescent light and groaned. His head was throbbing still from being tossed around the back of the van, and the light was far too bright. He was pretty sure that he was going to get a migraine out of this. "What do you want from me?" he asked.

"Oh, not much," Schmidt said, punching Mycroft hard enough that it sends the chair off on one leg and crashes to the floor. Mycroft's head banged hard against the concrete, and he swore. "That's for my brother," Schmidt said.

Mycroft tried to focus with the pounding in his head, but found he was unable to. "Wh-who do you work for?" he asked.

The man just laughed and walked off, leaving Mycroft to lie on the concrete. He didn't have to wait long, however, before the chair he was in was abruptly righted and spun around to face the opposite direction he was previously in, and he was face to face with Charles Augustus Magnussen. "Charles," he sighed. "I suppose I should have known, had I not been thrown to the ground 5 times since I was abducted."

"Hm, yes, I heard, and everyone is being punished accordingly. I didn't want anything happening to you unless you tried to escape, and we both know you're not stupid enough to do that."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "That does, however, imply I'm stupid."

"Well, you are. You walked right into my trap. First I had your ex-wife killed, then I sent your daughter over here. Do you really think the CIA just  _happened_ to find out your daughter existed out there? No, I made it like that. And you accepted a ticking time bomb into your own home. It's such a shame, though. There's a target on her back, now, because of you."

Mycroft glowered. "You leave her out of this."

"Okay, but she'll be dead by tomorrow evening. I happen to know several assassins who hate you and want to ruin your life..." Magnussen said. "But. I suppose it isn't my problem."

Mycroft bit the inside of his cheek. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Oh, not much. Just do what I ask of you in your work when I ask it of you, and every time you listen to me, I stay your daughter's execution until the next time I need you. Do we understand each other?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He didn't want Beth dead, not when she was his last connection to Ali. But he also didn't want to listen to this vile excuse of a man. Which was worse? "...Fine. What do you need me to do?"

Magnussen slid a phone into Mycroft's trouser pocket. "Keep this on you, I'll be in touch."

Magnussen left and Mycroft wasn't alone for more than 5 minutes before Sherlock came running in. "Mycroft! Are you all right?! Where have you been?!"

"Here," Mycroft said drily. "Being abducted by some radical group who wants their interests represented. They went out for their smoke break."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and got Mycroft out of the handcuffs, leading him out of the warehouse. Mycroft saw Beth leaning on a patrol car, and almost sighed in relief, but he knew that he had to become indifferent to her so he couldn't be compromised anymore and she could be disposed of. He nodded. She smiled at him and waved, walking over. "You okay? You forced me to stay an entire day and a half with this nutcase!" she exclaimed, jutting a thumb out at Sherlock.

Mycroft crisply nodded. "I'm fine," he grumbled, walking away from the two.

This was going to be hard.


	15. Chapter 15

Beth was on her laptop in the living room of Mycroft's house when she heard the door open behind her. "Hi, Mycroft," she called. "How was work today?"

All there was in response was a grunt and a weight on the other edge of the sofa. Beth sighed. Mycroft had stopped being friendly with her ever since he was abducted, and she got the sinking feeling that she wasn't wanted around anymore. She had apologized for everything she had done to irritate him, but he barely batted an eye. Just that same old grunt. Mycroft's phone dinged and he paled. But rather than reaching for the one he had placed on the table, he pulled out a second one, thinner, prepaid.  _A burner?_ Beth thought.  _Since when does Mycroft need a burner cell?_  


"Emergency, classified...things," Mycroft said, getting up and waving his hands around. "I'll, uh, be in my study. Don't bother me, you can cook. Good night."

Beth frowned when he looked like he was going to hug her, but stopped himself and walked out of the room. What was going on? She grabbed the landline and dialed Sherlock. When he picked up, he was irritated, "Mycroft, what now? You know I prefer to text."

"It's harder to figure out what was said on an untapped phone," Beth responded coolly. "Has Mycroft ever pulled out a burner phone and immediately left in the middle of what he was doing with you?"

"No..." Sherlock said. "I wasn't aware he was in possession of a second mobile."

Beth frowned. "Sherlock, I think something's wrong."

"Why? It could just be a work precaution."

"That sounds fake to you and you know it," Beth snapped.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "You sound like your father," Sherlock said bitterly.

"I'm taking that as an insult. He refuses to talk to me anymore. It's ridiculous," Beth griped. "Something's wrong. He was doing so well before."

"Do something that would make him mad and see what he would do," Sherlock volunteered. "He might show he cares after all."

"Oh, no, he cares," Beth assured. "He's trying not to."

"Now,  _that's_ new," Sherlock mused.

Beth rolled her eyes. "Excellent deduction, Sherlock. Now, a little help would be nice?"

"Become an assassin, or something. Force him to worry. Not so much as to push him away, but just enough," Sherlock suggested.

Beth pulled out her phone and texted Anthea. "Okay, I'll take some training classes for MI6. Anthea can approve them with Mycroft's signature, I'll be a spy in no time and he doesn't even have to know until I'm on a mission," she said. "That should make him worry, me being on his roster."

Sherlock huffed his approval. "That should work," he said. "Let me know how it goes."

"Of course, Sherlock," Beth said, and hung up. Now, what would she like to do? Anthea needed to know.  _Combat and cryptography. What do you think?_ she texted.

_Sounds good for you. This should get Mycroft's head out from you-know-where._

Beth laughed. It would.  _Thanks._  


_Tomorrow morning. 9 o'clock. You better be awake._

  
_I will._ Beth turned off her phone with a smile.

* * *

The next morning exactly one hour after Mycroft left, Anthea came to the door and Beth answered it for her. "Hey, hey, hey!" she said. "Welcome to the Casa del Holmes! Can I get you anything?"

"Ha ha," Anthea said, coming in with a laptop. "On this computer we have some basic codes that we use to determine if someone is qualified for a cryptography training class. You will be monitored, but they won't see who you are. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Beth nodded. Anthea handed her the computer and she went into the living room, booting it up and laughing when she saw the numbers on the screen. "Wait, people still use these codes?"

Anthea frowned. "Some of the more complex ones, yes. Why?"

"First of all, because this isn't a code, it's a cipher. And second, I already know half of it. 25 is obviously T and 46 is E, the two most common letters of consonants and vowels, respectively. From there I can guess several different combinations of words, and, of course, figure out what number H is. This is easy, it's just...words and patterns. I'm good with those." She went to typing in the solutions and her reasoning, and was done with 5 ciphers in 15 minutes. Then she went to the codes. "A little harder, but..." she typed in some of her own text, and brought up a series of numbers that she looked between. "It works on the same principal." And in half an hour, the codes were done as well. She looked up from the laptop for the first time to see Anthea stunned. "You...beat out every single cryptographer's record for solving these at MI6. That includes your father."

Beth shrugged. "You did say these were basic codes, though."

"That...Beth, no, that's what we say to people. That was a placement test, and according to this, you already should have passed the class."

Beth blinked. "Wow. I guess I really am good with words," she chuckled. "Can I still do combat training, though?"

"Uh, yeah," Anthea said slowly. "A brain like that needs to be protected, after all," she said. "Come on, I'll take you to the buildings we use to train. Gyms, mostly. That's where we do our recruiting, too. Come on."

Beth got up and followed Anthea out of the house, and frowned. "Do you think Mycroft will find out?"

Anthea laughed. "I doubt it. Since I approved everything in his name, he won't be consulted until it's too late. Enjoy, this, Beth. This is freedom."

The girl smiled and stared out the window of the car they got in. "This is gonna be good," she said with confidence. "I can feel it. It's gonna be awesome."

"Yeah," Anthea said, pulling out her phone. "I have a feeling you're going to like it."


	16. Chapter 16

For a month, Beth had been doing combat training with Anthea after Mycroft had left the house. He was none the wiser, and Beth was quickly proving herself to be a worthy opponent. When she was a month in, she started getting visitors during her training sessions, and she was suddenly very glad that she always wore her hair up when training so no one recognized her as a certain someone's daughter. She was cleared as to not require a body guard everywhere she went, not like she had one to begin with, but she had a reason to deny one now. Word was apparently spreading about her fighting, because she got several more visitors by the day. But none of them were ever Mycroft. Until one fateful Thursday when she was preparing to spar, and when she was wrapping up her hands, she heard someone mutter the name  _Holmes_. Beth continued to wrap, but listened carefully. "...Seriously, she looks like she could be a Holmes. She's got the learning curve for it, too. What is she, 15?"

"16, actually, as of 2 weeks ago," she called out with a smirk, causing the crowd to go silent. She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a Holmes. I'm a Sooth."

A man stepped toward her from the crowd, and to her ever-loving relief, it wasn't Mycroft, but her challenger. Beth balled her fists and held them up in front of her face, her legs spread, and every muscle in her body ready to move. The man came at her with an easy right hook and she dodged easily, but made sure to look like she was slower than she was. She kicked out toward the man's stomach, causing him to stagger back a step, and she grinned, knocking his feet out from under him, and he was on the ground in seconds. "Point," she said with a smirk. "Try again, mate."

The man laughed and stood up, this time not hesitating to throw all he had at her. Beth was faster than the slow, hard punches the man threw at her, but any short jabs left her slightly winded. She looked the man over and smiled. "How's the kid?"

He paused in shock and Beth delivered a roundhouse kick straight to the jaw. "Point," she said a bit breathlessly. "You're strong."

"And you are incredibly observant," the man laughed. "I have a job for you, if you'd like it."

Beth looked around for Anthea, who was nodding emphatically at her and waving her hand in a  _go on_ gesture. "I'd love to," she said with a smile. "What d'you need? The cryptography or the fighting?"

"Well, it's a bit of both, actually. Can you handle a gun?"

"It's pretty easy, isn't it? Take off the safety, point, shoot, safety back on, right?" Beth asked.

"Yeah. Think you could carry one just in case and do some work for me?"

"Well, I'd have to talk to my--"

"--Oh, don't worry, I can say anything I need to in order for your parents to let to."

"Parents aren't a problem. My mom's dead, my dad's never around. I need to talk to the one person who actually seems to look after me. My dad's coworker, who turned out to be a recruiter, who knew?" she laughed.

"So you'll do it?" the man asked.

"'Course I will," Beth laughed. "My name's Annabeth. Annabeth Sooth."

"James. James Schmidt," the man smiled, pushing nonexistent hair up off his face.

* * *

"All right, everyone in position?" Schmidt asked.

Beth and the team around her nodded. Anthea had vetted this guy and found him clean enough, and it was clear he was doing this particular job for MI6, and no one else, so she let Beth go in on her own. She pulled down the leather jacket over her frame to conceal the gun hidden on the small of her back. "I'm ready," Beth said confidently.

Schmidt passed her a laptop and she looked over the plans for the building, and the place where she needed to drop off the code she had created. She nodded and went off in the direction she was given. There were 6 people, 5 of them with dummy codes, and then her. She walked through the building like she owned the place, a casual smirk gracing her face and her hair swinging like a pendulum. Her only defining feature, and there were plenty of long-haired gingers out there. She walked by the trashcan next to her, paused, unwrapped the gum she had stuck in her code, popped the gum in her mouth, and throwing the code in the trash, and then she kept walking until she reached the back, ducking into the doctor's office that was there. "Excuse me, is this the allergist Dr...Schiener's office? My boyfriend wrote down the directions to get there and his chicken scratch is illegible," Beth explained to the receptionist.

"Sorry, sweetheart, Dr. Schiener moved across the street a month ago," the receptionist said.

"Oh, that would explain it! Thank you!" Beth chirped, walking out of the office and out of the building, where Schmidt was waiting for her. "You drop it off?"

Beth rolled her hair into a bun and nodded. "Gum?" she asked, pulling out another piece with a plain wrapper.

Schmidt laughed. "No thanks. You should get home."

Beth nodded. "Yeah, or at least back to the office. Thanks for the job opportunity, though. I enjoyed helping make that code."

Schmidt saw her off and Beth went back home just in time to start a shower as Mycroft got home. She made sure the smell of the office was off her before she got out and changed into sweats. "Yo, Mycroft. Are we doing conversation today?" Beth asked sharply.

Mycroft glared up at her. "Why are you even here?"

"Because I'm 16. I need a legal guardian."

"I should change that law," Mycroft grumbled. "Then you could be gone."

Ouch. That one was definitely a direct attack. Beth snarled. "I might be sooner if you just let whoever has a hit out on me come here."

Mycroft froze and examined her. Beth stared back and realized he was actually doing something to prevent the attacks, but he didn't like it. "Who are you paying off?" she asked.

"Shut up," Mycroft scoffed. "I regret coming home."

"You know where the door is!" Beth snapped. "No reason to stay here if you can't stand me!"

There was a knock at the door and Beth went to answer it, finding Arthur on the other side. "Bad timing?" he asked.

"Perfect timing. One of us had to leave. I'm going out!" Beth informed the two, slamming the door on Mycroft before he could object and putting on her sneakers. "So, where do you want to go?"

"Cinema?" Arthur offered. "Just anywhere. There's something I want to tell you."

"Sure. Movies works. Let's walk, we can call on a cab when we get closer to the inner city. What do you want to tell me?"

"Well...as you both know, we're 16."

"You're just realizing that now?" Beth asked as they started to walk.

"Shut up. I mean, by the time you're 16 you usually know who you like."

"Yeah?" Beth asked. "I sorta like...people. I dunno. I find boys nice for the romance thing. I just don't prefer the other thing."

"I know, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. But I know how I feel on the romance thing."

"Oh, Arthur, are you gay?" Beth asked. "Are you coming out to me?"

"No! Well, sorta. I'm demiromantic. I need an emotional bond before I like someone? And...well, I like someone." Arthur was blushing furiously. "Can you guess who?"

Beth looked at Arthur seriously, and got a bashful smile on her face. She pointed to herself and arched an eyebrow. Arthur nodded. Beth grinned. "I like you too, idiot," Beth said, wrapping her arms around Arthur. "So...the movies. Would that be...as a real, proper date?"

Arthur nodded. "If you want it to be," he said shyly.

Beth nodded emphatically. And that's when they heard the gunshots.


	17. Chapter 17

Beth immediately pulled Arthur the the ground behind someone's trashcans. She poked her head just barely over the top of them and couldn't find the shooter. She sat back against the cans with Arthur and flicked out a blade on her Army knife. "Stay down," she ordered to Arthur, as she stood up and dashed out. The shots started up, always just missing her. She found the house the person was shooting from, the old one that no one had rented in the time that she had been there. She ran over and went to give the sniper a piece of her mind. She ran up the stairs and met a woman coming down with a gun in her hand. Beth ducked and reached for the woman's legs, pulling her down onto the steps and jumping onto the railing so she didn't block the woman's decent down the stairs. She watched the woman to make sure she was unconscious before calling the police. "Yes, hello, I found a woman in my neighborhood with a gun. She is currently unconscious at 495 Ivy Lane. Thank you. I'm, uh, Jane Doe."

As soon as the phone call was done, she ran out back to Arthur. "Taken care of," she breathed.

Arthur stared at her in awe. "Does your dad know you can do that?"

"He barely knows I exist anymore," Beth sighed. "Now let's go see that movie, please."

Arthur grabbed her hand and walked with her. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"MI6," Beth deadpanned.

Arthur laughed. "No, seriously, where?"

"There were self-defense classes at a gym I went to, and some of it was crime dramas," Beth said with a sheepish smile.

Arthur laughed. Mycroft's car drove up to them and Mycroft got out. "Get in, both of you," he ordered.

Beth stood there, nonplussed. "And what if I don't want to get in? It's perfectly safe out here."

"Tell that to the people running around with guns," Mycroft snapped. "In. The. Car."

"Why? It would be so much easier for you if I got shot, then you wouldn't have to deal with me," Beth said flatly.

"Annabeth Holmes we are not having this discussion right now. Get in."

"Who are you paying off to keep the killers off my back?"

"I'm not paying anyone off!" Mycroft exclaimed.

"Bye then," Beth said, pulling on Arthur's hand.

"Get in the car!" Mycroft yelled.

"Why?" Beth called over her shoulder.

"Oh you little--because I care about you!" Mycroft screamed. "Now get in the car or I'll kill you myself!"

Beth stopped and turned to look at Mycroft in shock. "You don't care about anyone, least of all me," she declared. And then she turned around and kept walking.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder and said, "He's getting in the car. I think we should go back."

"Why, so we can get a protection detail?" Beth scoffed.

"Because he looked stricken when you said he didn't care about you."

"He's been ignoring me for weeks. He didn't even bother to lock the door half the time when I'm at home. He's begging  _some_ one to kill me," Beth sighed. "He's trying not to care about me. I can tell."

"Yeah, well, he's certainly trying now. Maybe the person with the gun shooting at you set his priorities straight."

"Yeah? Maybe Sherlock isn't a nutcase," Beth snapped. "It still doesn't mean that's actually true!"

Arthur frowned. "Beth. I know you don't have much experience with fathers..."

"And I don't want any. Why are you arguing  _his_ side anyway?"

"Because I  _do_ have experience with fathers. And he certainly seems to be trying to look out for you."

Beth's phone rang and she dug it out of her pocket. It was Mycroft. She scoffed, and turned her phone off. "He's sucking at it, then. And I refuse to go back to him."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but sighed instead. "All right, love. But...I want you to be safe too, you know. Where will you go?"

Beth grimaced. "Much as I hate to say it, probably to Uncle Sherlock's. He would let me stay there purely to spite Mycroft. If you see any cabs, let me know, okay? Much as I love walking with you, it might be a bit dangerous."

Arthur laughed. "You think?"

"Yes, I do," Beth said matter-of-factly. A taxi came up and she hailed it over. The driver stopped and Beth pulled out her wallet. "Yes, I can pay," she assured. "221 Baker Street, please," she requested, getting in and pulling Arthur down into the seat next to her.

The taxi drove mostly in silence. Arthur didn't dare say any more and Beth just stared out the window. Her phone was off so she didn't read the messages on it.

* * *

_Beth, I know you don't like it but come back. M_   


_I'll explain everything, but not where people are listening. M_

_Beth? M_

_Annabeth, say something! M_

_Fine. Don't come back. But know I've been protecting you, and now that you're gone I have no reason to stop the attacks. M_

Beth closed the texts and shook her head, passing her phone to Sherlock. "It's the most pathetic excuse I've ever heard. And it's not gonna work on me."

Sherlock passed the phone back to her. "In my opinion, he seems serious."

Beth shrugged. "I'm not here for your opinion. I'm here for the roof."

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, you can stay. But on the couch. And your little boyfriend is not to stay the night."

Beth wrinkled her nose. "Ewww. Sherlock, I do not need you insinuating I am not a virgin, or do not plan on being a virgin for long, all right? That's just gross."

Arthur put a hand on Beth's shoulder. "I guess movie night tonight won't work, huh? I'll, uh, I'll text you."

Beth nodded. "All right, I look forward to it."

Arthur oscillated, took Beth's hand, gave it a squeeze, gave her a smile, and left. Beth turned to Sherlock. "Thanks for letting me stay over."

Sherlock shrugged her thanks off. "Anything to spite my brother."

Beth snorted. "That's what I thought." Her phone rang with a text alert. She opened the text and grinned. "I'm gonna have to pop out for a bit, that all right?"

Sherlock nodded in confusion. "Who texted you?"

"Anthea. She found this amazing recipe and I  _have_ to try it with her! You understand, don't you?"

"No...but good luck," Sherlock said slowly. "I hope it...tastes good?"

Beth smiled at him and ran out the door, glancing at Anthea's text. _Snagged a mission for you. The bosses are looking at the up-and-coming rookies. Lauriston Gardens, 20 minutes. I'll take you where you need to go._  


A chance to prove herself in the big leagues? Beth was  _all over_ this.


	18. Chapter 18

Beth sat in the bushes in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere, listening to an earpiece. She was taking part of a search-and-capture mission, nothing too big, just making sure the subject didn't escape the perimeter. Everyone was testing to make sure their comms units were up and running. "Leader 1, check."

"Leader 2, check."

The next voice made her pause. "Leader 3, check."

That was Mycroft.  _He_ was one of the people on this mission?! She couldn't say anything, not now, that would cause everything to blow up to epic proportions. The tests continued.

"Sniper 1, check."

"Sniper 2, check."

Beth took a deep breath and pressed the button on her earpiece. "Rookie 1, check."

She was met with 10 long seconds of radio silence. Then, "Rookie 2, check. That's everyone. Shall we begin?"

Beth nodded and spoke into the earpiece. "I'm all set, and if the Rookie is ready, everyone is ready, isn't that right, leaders?"

She was met with some chuckles over the comms and some distant chatter through the woods. She listened to see if anyone was coming her way, and, finding no one immediately nearby, she started her first priority, closing the perimeter. She walked toward the chatter she was hearing, the chatter she knew could only be coming from her teammates. A branch snapped 50 feet to her right. Another Rookie was standing there, looking around furtively. She sighed. "Ah, Rookie 2, make sure to watch for fallen branches. I could hear you miles away."

"You're hardly one to talk, Rookie 1," the rookie sneered. "You're less experienced than I am."

Beth bit her lip. She wasn't going to bicker over comms, that not what they were for. She continued forward until she heard a gun fire. She paused, reaching for her own gun that was hidden in a holster around her ankle. She grabbed it and ran as quietly as she could to where it had originated from. She found the person they were looking for, a sniper who went by the name Moran. He had a gun. And several other weapons. Beth didn't hesitate. She clicked off her safety, pointed. Shot at his shoulder, and got a direct hit. Clicked the safety on, and ran toward the man. He grabbed a knife with his good arm and slashed at her. She dodged, and kneed him in the jewels. When he bent over, she pounded him between the shoulder blades, sending him sprawling to the ground. She got her cuffs out and trapped his arms behind him, then removed all weapons on his person. "This is Rookie 1, I got the bad guy!" she giggled. "How's that for you, Rookie 2? Am I still more inexperienced than you are?"

Several people ran into the clearing at once, taking the sniper away from the 16-year-old-girl. She could see Mycroft at the edge of the clearing, quite obviously red in the face. Few people noticed, until he asked, "And who, pray tell, thought it would be okay to groom a 16-year-old girl for missions?"

Everyone paused, and Moran laughed. "No!  _That one_ is your kid?!"

All eyes turned to Beth, and she just smirked. "Well. I  _am_ a Sooth. I'm just also a Holmes. I wasn't lying, and everything I did was all me. I mean, look at his reaction. He would never let this stand had he known. I'm just that good," she laughed.

Everything burst into commotion. Some people were trying to escort Beth off the premises, while others were trying to offer her a job. Mycroft was taken and questioned about the whole ordeal, and Moran was maniacally laughing at the chaos as he was lead away. When everything died down, Beth and Mycroft were in the same car, Anthea between them, and all three of them were too upset to break the silence. Beth at one point opened her mouth, but Mycroft just cut her off with a crisp, "No."

Beth frowned. "I'm not some dog you can boss around."

"No, but you have proven to be entirely too reckless. Can't I trust you when I'm away?"

"This was, like, my second mission! Give me some slack! Anthea screened everything I did and made sure I was safe!"

"Did she now?" Mycroft turned to Anthea.

Anthea scoffed. "Oh, you were doing this at her age! But you had no one to say whether it was safe or not! And you haven't been talking to her at  _all_ lately! You tell her that you don't want her! What is she supposed to do except find a way to make a life of her own?"

Mycroft growled. "Didn't I tell you two I would explain this when there weren't any other ears around to listen in?!"

"You have yet to explain, Biological Father," Beth growled.

"And now I never will, because I can't trust you! Either of you!" he exclaimed. "Not with what you've been doing behind my back!"

"I wouldn't tell a soul anything!" Beth said, mildly offended.

"Sir, if someone's blackmailing you, you by law have to tell someone!" Anthea exclaimed.

"No one is blackmailing me," Mycroft said flatly. "And it will stay that way. Because no one would dare to blackmail me."

"You're paying  _someone_ off," Beth grumbled.

"Not another word out of you!" Mycroft snapped. "You are in no position to talk about anything, young lady, and don't pretend that you are! You may be stupid, but you're not  _that_ stupid!"

Beth huffed and pulled out her phone, texting Anthea.  _Tell him he's being an idiot for me, will you?_  


Anthea rolled her eyes when she got the text and showed the screen to Mycroft. "Not appreciated," he sneered.

"Doesn't have to be," Beth shrugged. "Oh, and you're welcome, for stopping that sniper."

Mycroft turned red again and was about to yell something when gunshots rang out. All three people went into fighting mode as Beth pulled out her knife, Anthea a gun, and Mycroft snagged his own knife from the car floor. Schmidt, Fritz, and Fitzgerald were back, and they grabbed both Beth and Mycroft. Beth bit and slashed and kicked but couldn't get free of Schmidt's grip. "Guess you got a better offer," she snarked, before she was smacked. "Shut up," Schmidt growled, dragging her to a different car. "We're here to get you someplace safe, you know, without a very angry sniper?"

Fritz and Fitzgerald were both struggling with Mycroft, but shoved him into the back of a van with bulletproof windows anyway. Beth quickly followed. Anthea was trying to get in but was blocked, and when she didn't back down, knocked out. Schmidt closed the doors of the van and the three men climbed in the front. "You should have just sent your daughter into the mission in the first place, Holmes," Schmidt sneered. "Magnussen could have stayed her execution, and she wound up on it anyway."

"I didn't know she had training," Mycroft growled.

Schmidt started to drive. "What kind of father doesn't pay attention to his own kids? A lousy one, that's who. You tried so hard not to care when you refused to put your daughter in harm's way so you could eventually, but when the time came that it was our hands versus yours, you couldn't do it. How pathetic."

Beth looked over at Mycroft. "Wait, Magnussen kidnapped you? And blackmailed you? Using me?! He killed my mother for _leverage_?!" she screamed. "I'm going to  _kill_ him!" she yelled at the top of her lugs. "Drive faster! I have a murder to commit!"


	19. Chapter 19

Mycroft wisely decided to sit in the back of the van a little longer than necessary when they finally stopped, because as soon as the van was slowing down, Beth had unlocked the back door and had flung herself out of the moving vehicle, screaming, " _He's gonna wish he was dead by the time I'm through with him!_ "

Not even their "escorts" could keep Beth at bay. Her combat training had proved to be far more effective than any of them had expected. Missions weren't the only time she knew how to use it. And when all 3 men were on the ground groaning,  _that_ is when Mycroft stepped out of the van. "I need to talk to Anthea about this," he grumbled.

Beth shot him an irritated look. "Like she said, you're one to talk, aren't you?"

"You are  _16_ , you are hardly fit to go on any missions. Even  _I_ wasn't doing that until I was 17, and only then because I was away at Uni and I didn't have to worry anyone by disappearing into the night."

"Oh, like you care," Beth scoffed. "The past month I've learned one thing: Your 'caring' is conditional.  _Highly_ conditional. You've been paying Magnussen off so he won't send people to kill me. And you've been trying to stop caring for me, the same way you did to Mom, because it inconvenienced you to send someone after him, and it was worse to be at his beck-and-call, so your solution was to kill me.  _A+ parenting, really_!"

"Oh, what do you know?!"

" _A lot more than you, apparently!_ "

"Now, now, children, this is hardly the appropriate hour to have a row," a voice said from the dark.

Beth screamed and barreled into the man who was stepping out of the shadows and punched him in the face again and again and again. Fortunately for her, this man  _was_ Magnussen. Unfortunately for her, Mycroft was peeling her off him before she could "even the score" as she had put her mind to. "That's for my mother, you sadistic--"

"Language!" Mycroft reprimanded.

Beth didn't even retort, just ran her tongue over her teeth and counted to 10 in her head. "If you don't let me go right now, I will not be responsible for my actions."

Mycroft just held onto her tighter. Beth laughed. "I hate you," she said between spasms.

"Wh--" Mycroft loosened his grip for a fraction of a second, resulting in Beth leaving him sprawled all over the ground.

"Don't you get it yet? I. Hate. You. You're supposed to be the genius, surely you can understand a 3-word-sentence," Beth scoffed, turning to Magnussen, who was pinching his nose. She smiled sweetly. She had quite obviously broken it. "Shall we go over the payment for me?" she asked sweetly.

Magnussen said nothing, just observing her. "What do you want?" he asked.

Beth walked over and whispered in his ear. "I want my mother and my old life back." And she brought his already bleeding nose onto her knee.

He collapsed to the ground and didn't move, but his chest was still rising and falling. So he was alive, at least. Beth growled at Mycroft and started walking away to where the van had come from. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Away from you!" Beth replied.

Mycroft ran after her and grabbed her arm, but Beth wrenched it away, turning to her father in disgust. "I never want to see you again, do you understand me? Never. Again. I'm going to find someplace where people actually value me as a  _person_ , not some  _thing_ you seem intent to keep me as to show your excellent skills at reproduction." She continued to walk, digging her fingernails into her palms.

"ANNABETH YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!" Mycroft yelled.

Beth didn't even flinch. She pulled out her phone and called Sherlock, her voice thick. "Hey, uh, Sherlock. Um. When I find my way back to Baker Street, please don't make me go back home, all right?...What happened? It's...not safe for me. It's not my home anymore. I need a place to stay...so...yeah...no, it's-hic-fine. No, I'm not drunk. I just...hic...beat up the man who killed my mother, and...well...Mycroft is...less than pleased...and I just-hic-don't know where else to go, I mean--Right. Tha-hic-ank you."

She continued to walk until she heard a car coming up the road. She walked backwards and stuck her thumb out the way she was walking. She doubted anyone would pick her up, but, y'know. There was always a dim hope. The car stopped and Anthea got out. "Kid, what exactly are you doing?"

"Hitchhiking home," Beth said like it was obvious. "What's it look like?"

Anthea rolled her eyes. "Where's your father?"

" _Mycroft_ is up the road aways. He's not my father by anything but blood."

Anthea frowned. "What's wrong, Beth?"

Beth shook her head. "You should ask Mycroft. It's his fault, after all."

"Beth, get in the car, I'll take you home," Anthea said. "That is, if you think you can go home tonight?"

"No, I can't," Beth said. "Could you...could you take me to Baker Street?" tears clouded her eyes as she asked. "I c-can't...that house is not my home..."

Anthea nodded and sent out a text. "There's another car coming anyway. Mycroft can ride in that one. Get in," she said, opening the passenger door.

Beth got in, nodding and silently crying. Anthea did a U-turn and drove back toward London. "Seriously, what did he do?" Anthea asked.

"You really need to ask him."

"And I will, but you're crying."

"H-he...he tried to stop caring for me because he was being blackmailed using my life so that Magnussen could get his way. If Mycroft didn't listen, I would be killed. And he was instructed to put me on the mission tonight, and he refused, cause, you know, he didn't know about my training, which meant snipers came after me today, and I wound up being on the mission anyway, and he thinks I'm an idiot who can't protect herself even when I knocked Magnussen unconscious and beat him up in honor of Mom, and..." Beth shuddered a breath before she just started to cry. "I c-c-can't live with someone who thinks so l-little of me that he would try to actively n-not care about me!"

Anthea's jaw was clenched by the end of Beth's explanation and her eyes never left the road. "Oh, I'm going to kill him," she growled. "You did nothing wrong, Beth, and I think you living with Sherlock for a while is the right thing to do. Did you already tell him about the situation?"

Beth nodded.

"Well, then, you can rest. You've had quite the day, and I don't want to make it worse for you."

Beth nodded again, crying quietly until she drifted into unconsciousness. She was barely awake when Anthea roused her to walk up to 221B, and Sherlock ushered her to his bed rather than the couch when he saw her tear-stained face and blood-stained shirt. She didn't even register when she fell asleep again on the bed, but she hated the dreams that came to her that night.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning when Beth woke up she was confused as to how she got to Baker Street, until the last night came rushing back to her. She grabbed her phone and texted Arthur.  _I'll be at Baker Street for a while, if you want to come over beware Sherlock will be here._  


Arthur texted back the affirmative and Beth went out in search of food, finding John in the kitchen. "Morning, Beth. Sherlock said you'd be staying over. Mycroft driving you up the wall?"

"Sort of. He tried to get me killed," Beth deadpanned, going to the refrigerator and letting out a surprised squeak at the body parts housed inside.

John stared at her. "You're...you're joking, right? That's an exaggeration? He actually didn't...?"

"He may as well have, with all he did to stop the snipers coming after me," Beth said with a shrug, finding the bread in a breadbox and making some toast. "That's why I'm staying here. I can protect myself, but I need to live somewhere where I don't have to look over my shoulder all the time. I felt safer in America, where anyone can tote a gun around," Beth said, arching her eyebrows at John.

John shook his head. "The second your father comes around, I'll personally escort you to the fire escape so you can leave."

Beth smiled. "How considerate. You're a true gentleman, Dr. Watson," she said with a smirk.

John did a double-take at her, shaking his head. Beth sighed. "Just say it. I know I look like my father."

"Sorry, sore spot," John said as Beth started eating her toast dry. "Tea?"

Beth wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "No, thanks," she sighed.

There was a knock at the kitchen door and Anthea walked in. "I brought some of your stuff over," Anthea said, dropping a suitcase and Beth's backpack at the door. "And I got you a little something that I think you'll like, if you don't mind a joke." She opened the suitcase and offered Beth a woman's 3-piece. Beth chuckled as Anthea explained, "I saw it at a thrift store and realized it screamed you."

Beth took it and held it up when she was done with her toast. "I'll change into it right now," she said. "Gimme 5 minutes."

She walked into Sherlock's room, closed the door, and stripped down to her bra and underwear. She grabbed the blouse of the suit, a plain white thing that was of medium thickness and (thankfully) not see-through. Then she slid up the pants over her legs, making sure her shirt was tucked in. Then she saw the waistcoat and couldn't help an inane giggle. She knew that once she was done, she was going to put her hair up in a bun. There was no way she couldn't. She slid on the waistcoat and buttoned it, adding the suit jacket and buttoning the middle of it, wrapping her hair into a bun on her head and using a pen to keep in in place. She looked in the mirror and laughed. She looked exactly like a younger, female version of Mycroft. She walked out and shrugged, crossing her arms. John spit out his tea and Anthea smiled. "I take it you like it then."

Beth just arched an eyebrow in response. "What do you think?" she asked.

"Stop it," John ordered, gasping. "I don't want to choke on my tea again."

Beth giggled. "Sorry, Doctor."

John took the rest of his tea in one gulp. "There. Mock anyone you like, now."

Beth laughed. "Mock anyone? Why would I mock anyone? That poses no advantage to me at the moment, and no one is irritating me. Besides, I like the both of you just fine."

"No, I meant...mocking..." John shook his head. "Never mind."

Beth giggled. "Yeah, I got that, don't worry. I'm not in a mocking mood, though."

John shook his head. "No 'Course not. Silly me," he sighed.

Beth grinned and looked at Anthea. "Anything I can do today to irritate Mycroft?"

Anthea thought about it. "How about doing a stint as a cryptographer? Does he recognize your handwriting?"

Beth thought about it, and nodded. "I think so."

"Well, I'm supposed to contract someone to write up a new code for us, as there's been a breach in security," Anthea said. "Think you can make one in 2 hours?"

"Give me a computer with Photoshop and I'll be done in about one and a half," Beth said confidently.

Anthea grabbed Beth's computer and handed it over. "Go nuts. I had it installed, just in case."

Beth smiled and took to the couch. "I'll e-mail you, then?" she asked distractedly.

"Sounds good. You have my e-mail?" Anthea asked.

"Mm-hm," Beth hummed, already fully absorbed in her task.

Anthea chuckled and left, and John sat down in his armchair, putting on some crap TV show that Beth already watched and didn't care for. She went to her backpack, found her headphones, and gladly plugged them into her computer, putting on some better white noise. And half an hour later, her code was complete, hidden in a picture of some woods and a nice little creek, in the small park right by her childhood home. She hoped Mycroft would recognize the significance. She e-mailed it to Anthea, and sighed against the couch. John looked over at her. "Hey, are you all right?"

"Fine," Beth said, making her face unreadable. "Just reflecting."

"Look, I may not know what you're going through--"

"I know you definitely don't," Beth interjected.

"--But I'm willing to listen. Sherlock didn't tell me much of anything last night, and from what you told me..." John trailed off.

"He was blackmailed into listening to Magnussen so I wouldn't die and he tried to force himself to not care about me so he wouldn't mind if something happened to me." Beth smiled sardonically, "And how are  _your_ parents?"

"They weren't half as bad as that, but they weren't great," John said, turning his attention back to the TV. "I get it, you don't want to talk. But I'm here."

Beth shook her head and went back to her computer, listening to music and making some codes of her own, embedding them in pictures of places with significance to her. She was typing out her own story, piece by piece, and letting it go slowly, allowing herself to register the pain, the happiness, the love, and yes, even the hate. When she was done, she closed the computer and sat in Sherlock's chair across from John. "Where's the nutcase?" Beth asked.

"Hm? Out, on a case, I think. He's not a nutcase."

"Sure he is. Everyone is. Even me. We're all nutcases, or else nothing would be any fun," Beth said with a shrug. "Seriously, where is he? I might join him if he lets me know."

"Why would you want to? You threw up at your first body."

"Yeah, but if it's not a body I'd be fine. I've also received combat training since then. I can deal with blood."

"Why would a 16 year old girl need combat training?"  
"Why would a father try and get his own daughter murdered?" Beth retorted.

John sighed. "Fair enough."


	21. Chapter 21

Beth heard the angry footsteps coming up the sidewalk, though she did not expect Mycroft to be the source of those angry footsteps. Yet here he was, standing in the doorway, seething. Beth looked up from her laptop casually, and smiled benignly at him. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet.

"Yes you can, actually." He strode into the room, looking around to make sure John and Sherlock weren't nearby, though he probably knew that John had just ran out to Tesco's 5 minutes ago. "What is this?" he asked, holding up the picture Beth had encoded earlier.

"Oh, it's a picture of a park I used to go to when I was a kid. They had a good swingset. Mom used to take me down there and help me try and go around the bar, but we could never quite get up there," Beth smiled at the memory. "Those were good times. What does this have to do with anything?"

"It was encoded, and sent to my office, along with a notebook that had the key to the code. Do you know what it said?"

Beth looked up and shrugged. "Sorry, haven't the faintest."

"Don't play dumb, Annabeth, it's not a good look on you," Mycroft growled.

Beth sighed, and stood up, not bothering to stand on her toes to be at equal height with her father, because she knew her words could intimidate more people than her height ever could. "You listen carefully. I have no desire to associate with you. Do you understand that? I don't want to be known as your daughter, I don't want to share the same last name. I don't care if you are my father by blood, you are not my father by choice. I am going to work where I want to work, how I want to work, and I am going to love who I want to love, and you are going to have no say in the matter, because I am done with you. Do you understand that? I am done. I will not be a pawn in some silly little game you have with a sociopath. I can work for you, if you like, but I refuse to associate with you if it is not related to the work I do and the work you do. Understand me, or do I need to repeat myself?"

Mycroft was about to respond when a deeper voice behind him said, "I think it would be best for everyone if you left, brother dear."

Beth craned her neck, and there was Sherlock in the doorway, looking a little worse for wear but the same as ever. He looked her over and she nodded. She was all right. He turned back to Mycroft. "Out," he ordered.

Mycroft grit his teeth. "Annabeth, just listen--"

"No." Beth pointed to the door. "Leave. Neither of us want you here."

Mycroft shook his head and put a small box in Beth's hand. "Happy birthday. I never said anything." And he was gone.

Beth was tempted to throw the box away, but settled for dropping it on the table with a huff.

Sherlock stepped into the flat. "New suit?" Sherlock asked.

Beth nodded. "Anthea's pick," she said, flopping back on the couch and letting her bun fall down into the mess that was her regular hair.

Sherlock sat down next to her. "Should we see what your father got for you as a belated birthday present?"

Beth shrugged. "I forgot about my birthday, too, to be honest. Arthur just sent me a meme and a quick text because he had school all day."

Sherlock frowned but nodded anyway, Beth's sign that he didn't know what she was talking about. He handed her the box again and Beth unwrapped it, to see it was a jewelry box. She opened the box slowly, to find a gold chain with two wedding rings on it. On the inside of the ring there was a transcription.  _I love you forever,_ on the bigger one, and  _I know you don't expect me to, but I care,_ on the smaller one. She smiled sadly. She could easily see her mom saying something like that to a man she loved, and the second one...well, that sounded about right when it came to Mycroft and her mom. She slid the necklace on over her head, to rest on top of the pendant she always wore nowadays. "They are such idiots," Beth sighed.

"That's love, I think," Sherlock hummed.

Beth ribbed him. "Oi. I'm trying to be angry here and you're not helping."

Sherlock chuckled. "Just be open to other people's perspectives. That's what I'm saying."

"Are you saying I should forgive my dirtbag father?" Beth asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No, I'm saying you need to cut him some slack in certain areas. That doesn't excuse what he did, and I think, for now, distance is the right option. But you should be open to forgive him in the future, you understand me? You already lost one parent, there's no sense in you losing another so quickly."

Beth hummed. "I think I might have rather had you as my dad."

Sherlock laughed. "No, you wouldn't have. I would be a terrible father."

Beth grinned. "Oh, I can imagine."

Sherlock whacked Beth upside the head and she glared at him. "Watch it," she warned.

"Never," he replied.

More footsteps could be heard and Sherlock groaned. "Why are you so popular?"

Beth laughed when Arthur came to the door. "Hey, Beth. Cinema today?"

She nodded. "Sure. We were pretty rudely interrupted yesterday. Though what did I say about announcing your arrivals?"

"Oh, terribly sorry, m'lady," Arthur laughed. "Me thought it would be romantic t'were I to surprise you today."

Beth snickered. "Oh, shut up, you!" she exclaimed.

Arthur grinned and held his hand out, and Beth eagerly bounded up and grabbed it. Arthur looked her over. "Very suave," he said with a grin.

Beth rolled her eyes. "I like the ways it feels. It adds a sense of power to my day," she snarked.

Arthur laughed. "Come on. Let's go catch that  _film_."

" _Movie_ ," Beth insisted. "Stupid Brit."

Arthur scoffed and nudged Beth away from him. "Uncultured Yankee!"

Beth grinned. "Yup!" she said, popping the 'p'. "I'm always gonna be half American, and I can't change that, nor do I want to," she declared. "Now come on, boyfriend! To the movies!"

Arthur rolled his eyes but let himself be dragged along. Neither of them paid any mind to the CCTV following them, or the seemingly innocuous couple behind them following their every move. Between the two's fathers, it was no surprise surveillance would be a bit tight. Beth gave Arthur's hand a squeeze and looked over at him with a smile. "Thanks for this. It's a good distraction from everything that's been going on lately, and besides, I like spending time with you."

Arthur blushed. "I like spending time with you, too," he said carefully. He looked around. "I hope your dad doesn't kill me for that."

Beth laughed. "He and I aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you."

They got to the movies and bought two tickets, each party paying for their own, and splitting up the snacks between them, sharing a soda. They went into the theater and looked at each other nervously. Beth snaked her hand into Arthur's and smiled. Arthur smiled back, and they both turned their attention to the movie. "This is gonna be good," Beth whispered to Arthur, but she wasn't talking about the movie.

"I know exactly what you mean," Arthur replied, and he wasn't talking about the movie either.


	22. Chapter 22

When the movie was over, Beth and Arthur were sitting in the theater, chatting excitedly about everything they liked, gushing over the actors. They looked around and noticed everyone was leaving, and Beth smiled sheepishly. "I guess that's our cue to go, huh?" she asked.

"Go where?" Arthur asked.

Beth shrugged. "I dunno. I don't really want to go back to Baker Street, and home is across the ocean and bought by some young couple."

Arthur frowned and hugged Beth. "I'm sorry," he murmured into her ear.

Beth hugged him back. "S'okay, I'm getting better about it."

Arthur stood up. "Let's get some dinner. I'm sure I can afford it."

"Oh, no, you don't have to pay for me--" Beth argued.

Arthur held a finger to her lips and smiled. "I know. I want to. Come on, let's go. I know the best pizza place."

Beth smiled and followed Arthur out of the theater and down the street. Out of nowhere, a phone box started ringing. Arthur paled. Beth rolled her eyes. "He's a drama queen like that, just ignore him and he'll stop," she assured.

"He might be against hurting you, but I don't have the same luxury," Arthur said, going over to the phone booth and answering the offending phone. "Hullo." He handed the phone to Beth. "It's for you."

Beth took the phone and hung it up promptly, sticking her tongue out CCTV cameras. "Come on. I want that pizza, now."

Arthur shook his head and walked next to her, leading her to the pizza place. "You've changed, Bethy."

Beth looked at Arthur, and without warning started to cry. Arthur freaked out. "Woah, woah! I'm not saying it's a bad thing, Bethy! What's wrong?"

"I-I-I don't w-want to change, it j-just happens..." she ran a hand through her hair. "I-I'm not the girl you f-fell in love with, Arthur. That girl is gone."

"I know," Arthur said.

"I'm hardened, and angry, and all-around difficult to associate with."

"I know," he repeated.

"Even my own father doesn't like me," Beth said, her breath coming in gasps.

"That's up for debate, but it's not impossible," Arthur allowed. "But none of that matters to me, Beth."

Beth looked up, tears pricking her eyes. "D-do you really mean that?" she asked.

Arthur nodded. "I don't care who you're becoming, or who you've been. I love you for now,  _and_ for the past, and if I get to know the future you, that's just the icing on the cake. You're my best friend, Beth. And I want you to be more. I don't care if you're not the same girl I fell in love with, because we're human, and all humans change. I just want to change with you."

Beth bit her lip and smiled, flinging her arms around Arthur and crying into his shirt. "Wow, _you're_ all muscly now," Arthur said, squeezing her arms. "Can I get your workout routine?"

Beth let out a choked laugh and took a step back from Arthur. "I want to get some pizza now, if that's all right," she said through her tears.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, let's go."

They walked hand in hand to the pizza place, and got a slice each. Beth had cheered up considerably, and Arthur was cracking jokes to keep her happy, and they generally enjoyed each other's company for another half hour. That was when Sherlock entered the parlor and located them. "You know it's 21:00?" he asked.

Beth frowned and checked her phone. "Oh, wow. It's really 9! Time flies," she said in a shrug. "Sorry," she said to Sherlock. "But at least I wasn't kidnapped!"

"My brother has been pestering me for your whereabouts for 2 hours," Sherlock growled.

"2 hours. Wow. Definitely the stalker type, then," Beth said sarcastically. "I was at the movies with Arthur, as you can 'deduce', hopefully, and then we came here for a late dinner. Going on a date is not illegal."

Arthur stood up. "I should probably get home, if it's that late. Father's not going to be very happy with me. Not livid, but not amused."

"Aw," Beth pouted, but gave his hand a squeeze. "Don't die on me, King Arthur."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Lady Guinevere," Arthur said with a smile, before he left.

Beth turned back to Sherlock. "You're not kicking me out, are you?"

Sherlock scoffed. "No. I'm telling you to tell me where you plan on going, so that I can give the wrong place to Mycroft."

Beth laughed. "You're not bad, for an Uncle," Beth allowed.

Sherlock grinned and guided her out of the parlor. "Back to Baker Street tonight. I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow, though. I think Mycroft might genuinely be considering therapy, at this point in time, though I'm not sure for who."

Beth wrinkled her nose. "Therapy? Why therapy?"

Sherlock shrugged. "That's what normal people do, I suppose."

"But this family has never been normal to my knowledge," Beth protested. "I refuse flat-out to go to any sort of therapy, and if Mycroft comes over with that idea in his head, kindly tell him, because I won't be there."

Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat and just led her toward Baker Street. "Well, we can worry about that tomorrow. Not tonight, tonight you can sleep, and forget all about this for 6 hours."

"That would be nice," Beth muttered.

* * *

_Beth was back in America, walking down the street with her mother, who was holding bags of groceries. "Next year, we are teaching you to drive, so we have an excuse to get a car," her mother laughed._   


_Beth smiled up at her mother and laughed. "We could get one now, I'm 15. Almost old enough to get my permit, too. Just give me 2 weeks."_

_Her mother smiled and kissed her on the forehead. "I know, sweetheart. You only remind me every day._

_Beth laughed and so did her mother, when out of an alley a man came with a gun. "Down on the ground!" he ordered._

_Beth's mother turned to her. "Beth, run!" she ordered._

_"Mom, don't do this. Don't be an idiot," Beth said, her eyes widening._

_Her mother made to kneel on the ground, shoving Beth away from her. "Beth, RUN!"_

_And Beth did. She turned away from her mom and started running, until she heard a single bang that didn't echo. A gunshot. She turned around and saw her mother lying on the sidewalk, blood pooling around her and the back of her head blown apart. "MOM!" she screamed._

_The man holding the gun looked up at her and Beth's blood ran cold. She ran across the street, and didn't stop until she found the British Embassy, where she knew people would recognize her, and she exclaimed that her mother had been shot to anyone who would listen. But that man...that man was going to kill her too. She could see it in his eyes. And he was coming for her._

Beth jolted upright and screamed, looking around wildly and trying to identify where she was. 3 sets of footsteps could be heard, but John's were the fastest out of all of them, as he hurried into Sherlock's bedroom. "Beth?! Beth, you're okay. It's okay. It was just a nightmare."

Beth was shaking violently and shook her head. "H-he's coming for me. He's coming for me!"

John flashed a light in her eyes and she flinched away. "Beth, I need you to listen to me. You're having a panic attack, do you understand? It was just a nightmare, no one is coming to get you."

Beth was still hyperventilating but she wasn't screaming anymore, and her eyes were trying to focus on John. "H-he thinks I'm a snitch, he's gonna k-kill me..." she whimpered.

"No one is going to hurt you," John assured, brushing the hair out of her face. "You have so many people determined to prevent that, they can't possibly get through all of us."

Beth still shook. "M-m-mom..." she sobbed. "I want m-my mom...!"

John held her hand as she cried and looked at the Holmeses in the doorway, shaking his head. She needed help they couldn't give her.


End file.
